


Shootin' You Straight

by rockstarpeach



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Angst, Consensual Infidelity, F/M, Infidelity, M/M, Pining, Rock Stars, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2012-12-15
Packaged: 2017-11-20 17:39:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 41,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockstarpeach/pseuds/rockstarpeach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU.  Dean Winchester is in a band and Castiel is a fan.  Not of the music, of Dean.  An opportunity presents itself one night after a concert and Castiel can’t pass up the chance of a lifetime.  Neither of them is happy to leave things at just one night, though, so they start up a romance troubled by long distances and Dean's rock star lifestyle.  It's not perfect, far from it, but this is their story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, after a billionty years or so, I've finally gotten around to posting this story here (previously found on my LJ). ~~I'm going to go chapter by chapter instead of posting it all at once, just to give myself time to clean each chapter up a little before I post them, but it should go quickly. I hope to have the whole thing up here within a week.~~ Done.

The whole thing is Anna’s fault, really.

Sure, Castiel has to take at least a little responsibility for his unhealthy affection for _12 Gauge_ that’s bordering on obsession. Especially considering he’s twenty-eight years old, and really, nobody over the age of about sixteen should fall asleep at night thinking of long, thick fingers strumming over guitar strings and soft background vocals. And they sure as hell shouldn’t be jerking off to those same thoughts.

Not that Castiel makes a habit of that, but it’s been known to happen. It’s not his fault that Dean Winchester is the single greatest example of manly perfection that the world has ever known.

The band’s premier album had hit the record stores when Castiel was twenty-four. He’d been too old even then to develop an instant crush on some guitar player, but knowing that hadn’t stopped him from falling head over heels in love. He hadn’t even listened to a single one of their songs on the radio when he’d seen the album cover, but there was something about Dean, the way he smiled, the way he looked with his hand gently wrapped around the neck of his guitar and his arm casually slung over the shoulder of his brother. Castiel had bought their first CD right there, and every one since.

He’d only gone into the record store in the first place to pick up _Songs of the Serengeti_ , to help him sleep.

Their music is passable, though not something he particularly enjoys. Not beyond the picture in his head of Dean’s fingers working over his guitar, solid pads pushing down on the frets and calloused fingertips plucking out harmonies. But that picture is good enough, and so is Sam’s voice. Adam’s drumming isn’t bad and Christian’s base playing is so token and simplistic it’s almost non-existent, which Castiel is thankful for.

He wonders sometimes if the songs are written that way on purpose, and why Christian is in the band at all.

It’s good enough though. A mildly pleasant buzz when he plays it in the background as he’s raking the lawn or dusting the furniture or cooking supper, while he pretends that Dean walks through his front door and takes Castiel over the kitchen counter before they eat spaghetti together and live happily ever after.

And Castiel is content to worship from afar, he really is. Or he has been anyway, until _12 Gauge_ plays a show in Wichita and his sister drags him along with her.

They’re only about a half hour out, in Clearwater, so they share a cab in with an agreement to get home separately if Anna finds a party she can’t pass up. Castiel isn’t really the party type, but he can’t begrudge his younger sister her fun so he makes her promise to call him either way. He wants to be there in case she needs him but he also does want to see the show, see Dean Winchester play in person. Listen to those smooth, heartfelt chords, watch the slow grind of his hips against the back of his guitar, the bend of his knees and the way his fingers curl around the neck.

And yes, perhaps Castiel wants to pretend he _is_ that guitar for a little while, but it’s not like anyone will know that. Least of all Anna beside him while she’s busy nursing her own pornographic thoughts about Dean. It must run in the family.

***

They’re not at the show more than twenty minutes before Anna finds a few kindred spirits and heads down front, hoping to sneak into the first few rows, where numbered seats have become meaningless and personal space is non-existent.

Castiel doesn’t mind, really. He’s happy thirty-two rows back, on the aisle. He has a good view, it’s not too loud and it’s not too crowded. Dean Winchester has never looked better, even with the slight bags under his eyes that the close-up screen reveals and the barely-there laugh lines that are just visible after twenty-six years.

He’s happily suspending reality and enjoying the band's fourteenth song of the night more than he thought he would, eyes glued to Dean’s mouth as he mumbles a soft background chorus into his microphone, when someone taps Castiel on the shoulder.

He jerks his head around and his eyes land on a man. Younger than him by more than a couple of years and certainly shorter. He looks a little like he just stumbled out of a Dungeons and Dragons tournament and is about to get into his Darth Vader costume, so when he speaks his words are surprising.

“How would you like a chance to get a little more… up close and personal with the band?” the man asks after he’s eyed Castiel up and down. He doesn’t sound like he’s really sure if he means it though. The guy clearly has no appreciation for the male form, looks as if he’s trying to ascertain whether or not Castiel would be a good match for someone else.

He must decide that Castiel passes whatever test he’s just been put through though, because he raises an eyebrow expectantly.

Castiel wasn’t born yesterday. He might miss out on the occasional social cue, but he knows what that means. The man might as well have said ‘How would you like the chance to be used as a fuck toy if one of the guys decides you’re pretty enough?’ and Castiel knows what his reaction to that should be. What it _is_ , at least in part.

 _Rock stars_ , Castiel thinks with an internal scowl. If you’re rich enough and famous enough you don’t even have to pick up your own one night stands. You get one of your roadies to do it for you.

Which is obviously what this man is. Sent out to scan the crowd, cart all the very prettiest people off somewhere so that after the concert the men of _12 Gauge_ can have their pick. Choose from a line of pre-selected women (and a few men, because Sam Winchester is openly gay and Castiel has his suspicions about Christian Campbell as well). 

Castiel doesn’t really want to sleep with Sam. Oh, he’s sure Sam’s a great guy, with those big smiles and kind, kind eyes Castiel has gotten lost in with his hand on his prick, on more than one occasion. And he’s one of the most beautiful people Castiel has ever seen, but Castiel doesn’t make a habit out of sleeping with people just because they’re pretty. And certainly not before he gets to know them. His brother Gabriel says he’s a prude but really he’s just practical. His own right hand has never let him down, and he’s got a much lower chance of catching a venereal disease or getting his heart broken.

Yeah, both have happened before. A couple of times.

He’s smarter about things these days.

Still, the possibility of seeing Sam Winchester naked is an alluring prospect, in that ‘never in a million years thought it would happen fantasy’ sort of way that’s so much less appealing than seeing _Dean_ Winchester naked. It’s a Winchester, at any rate, and any Winchester is better than none. Plus, if he goes with this man he might get the chance to see Dean up close, talk to him, maybe even shake his hand and that alone could probably fuel Castiel’s fantasies for a damn long time.

In the end, it really isn’t a hard choice. He nods dumbly and lets the guy lead him through the crowd and down a few dimly lit hallways, down some stairs and into the private parking lot on the south side of the Stadium.

The limo is already piled full with a half dozen other people, but it’s a short ride to the hotel.

***

The suite is nice. Big. Bigger than Castiel thought, with at least six couches and just as many plush chairs. They’re soft, a dark shade of red that warms Castiel instantly and they’re soft to the touch. The couch he sits down on feels like cotton balls under his fingers and he accepts a drink from a passing man with dark blond hair and a wide grin, ingesting a huge gulp before he even bothers to smell it to find out what it is.

Castiel coughs slightly, whisky he’s sure and something else… lemonade? He has no idea and it’s absolutely disgusting but the man looks down at him with a hopeful expression, like he’s looking for approval, and Castiel can’t help it.

He’s never been good at disappointing people. He holds his cup up, tilts it towards the man in salute, smiles a little and takes another drink. He has enough control to pretend that it’s good and the man walks on.

He barely manages to put the drink down on the table next to him when suddenly his lap is full of a scantily clad twenty-something. Pretty little thing, if Castiel had been into girls, all pale skin and dark hair, red lips and long lashes.

She kisses him, works a hand into his pants and despite himself his cock gives an involuntary twitch. His tongue swipes broadly across hers before he pulls back, shakes his head and lifts her off and places her at his side.

His cock is still growing hard, but he’s sitting here waiting to fuck _Sam Winchester_ so it would sort of be a problem if it _wasn’t_. 

“My apologies,” he says to the girl, when she looks questioningly at him. “I’m gay.”

“Oh,” she smiles and nods her head. “Here for Sam, then? Way to go! Not that I’d know personally, but I hear he’s great.”

“I…” Castiel starts, because he wants to say no. He’s not here for Sam, doesn’t really want Sam. He wants _Dean_ , even though he’s more sure than ever that he can’t have him. “Yes. Sam.”

“Well I can tell you first hand that Dean is one hell of a giver,” she says, and Castiel tenses up, though she doesn’t seem to notice. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if it runs in the family, so I’d have high hopes for Sam, too.”

“Thank you,” Castiel tells her, shifting to sit a little further away.

He takes a look around the room and almost wants to reach for his abandoned drink. There are two women fucking on one of the chairs in the far corner and there’s a naked man snorting lines of white powder off the coffee table in front of him. The girl by his side winks at him and motions him forward, waves her hand over the naked man’s backside, like Castiel should bend down and press his nose into the over-exposed crevice.

He shakes his head as politely as he can, sits just a little bit stiffer and watches while the girl climbs onto the other side of the couch, into another man’s lap. Castiel spares a moment to admire her form before the main door opens up and Dean and Sam walk in.

“I’m telling you, man,” Sam is saying, smiling brightly. “You can’t even…”

Dean laughs out loud. “And you can just fuck off,” he says around a wide grin. “Did you really think she wouldn’t…”

And then Dean freezes, elbows Sam softly in the side and the rest of the room buzzes and chatters on as they step closer to the couch that Castiel is sitting on.

Castiel is not a child. He’s mature and experienced and he doesn’t get star struck and tongue-tied around overrated rock musicians. Even so, his mouth goes dry and his heart picks up speed and he can feel the skin on his palms clam up with sweat. Dean is _right there_ , just a few feet away and he’s _looking_ at him.

Sam’s smile turns predatory then and a thrill runs through Castiel because it’s directed at him, and even though he wants Dean, _really_ wants Dean – like, he’s thinking about crying right now because Dean’s _so close_ and he can’t have him – Sam will probably be an acceptable substitute. And it appears that Castiel is good enough for Sam as well, because Sam takes another step towards him and stretches out his arm, palm of his hand facing up for Castiel to grasp.

Castiel starts to stand, is just about to place his hand in Sam’s, his eyes still fixed firmly on Dean when Dean jerks like he’s just come out of some kind of trance and his hand shoots out to clamp down over Sam’s forearm.

“Go play somewhere else, Sammy,” Dean says, the words coming out low and rough.

“What?” Sam asks, screwing up his face and shaking Dean’s hand off him. “Dean, fuck off.”

“I’m serious,” Dean growls. “I want this one.”

Sam’s face twists up even more and Sam turns his head to stare at his brother. “Dean, you don’t even do guys.”

Dean just looks at him, doesn’t blink and his mouth is a hard line.

“Fine,” Sam sighs. “Whatever.” He rolls his eyes and wanders off.

Dean’s eyes soften then and when he holds out his hand Castiel nearly implodes.

Castiel has a feeling he shouldn’t be doing this. Dean Winchester has been the object of his fantasies for years but this is a stupid idea. One of two things will happen: He’ll either fall hopelessly in love with the musician after a night of what he hopes will be the best sex of his life, or Dean won’t live up to the picture he’s created in his head, shatter his illusions and leave him empty and missing something that he never really had in the first place.

Hell, both, knowing his luck.

It doesn’t stop him from blinking up at Dean and taking the offered hand. He lets the man of his dreams pull him to his feet with a flirty smile and lead him down the hall and into one of the bedrooms.

“I thought you didn’t do guys,” Castiel says, voice rough from the smoke-filled room he’s spent the past hour in. And then he kind of wants to kick himself, because seriously? Who just said that? The very last thing he should be doing at the moment is reminding Dean he’s straight, and sending him right on to one of the girls.

“I don’t,” Dean shrugs as he opens the door, waves his hand through the frame for Castiel to go first. “Or, I haven’t in a really long time, anyway.” He snorts out a huff of breath through his nose and shakes his head, following Castiel into the room. “Years.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow, not entirely sure whether he believes Dean or not. “So I take it I’m special, then?” Ridiculous as it is, the notion that maybe he _is_ special sends a secret sort of thrill through him.

Dean just chuckles, low and to himself, walks around Castiel to grab the edge of the door in his hand and starts to close it, giving them privacy.

“What’s your name?” Dean whispers into Castiel’s ear, stretching his arm over Castiel’s shoulder to shut the door fully behind them, pressing in close and nearly pinning him to the solid wood.

Castiel swallows and tilts his head, body moving without conscious thought to give Dean more access as Dean’s nose nudges up behind his ear. Dean’s tongue snakes out then to lick a soft, moist line up the side of Castiel’s neck.

He shivers and falters backwards, knocking into the door and Dean follows, lips working now, pressing small open-mouthed kisses, sucking up the saliva his tongue had left behind.

“I can make up a name for you,” Dean says, and Castiel can hear the smile in his voice as well as feel it pressed up against his skin. “But I’d really rather you tell me.”

“Do you…” Castiel starts, but then Dean’s hand is on his side, working his t-shirt out of his jeans and then Dean’s hand slides up underneath it, over the over-heated skin covering his ribs and he has to stop, gasp and jerk into the touch. “Do you really care?” he asks. It’s a stupid thing to ask; of course Dean doesn’t care. He just needs to call him _something_ , all part of his clearly practiced seduction, and ‘Bill’ would probably work for him just as well as ‘Castiel’. Hell, _better_ probably. 

It really shouldn’t matter, he knows that. Knows what this is, for Dean. An easy lay, no strings no mess. A way to wind down after a great show, and he doesn’t need Castiel’s name for that, just his body. 

“I really,” Dean says, hand sliding up Castiel’s stomach and chest so that his fingertips tickle over a nipple, teeth closing down gently over Castiel’s jaw. “Really,” he continues, lips pressing a kiss to the corner of Castiel’s mouth, “want to know.”

Dean’s other hand leaves the door, grabs the other side of Castiel’s shirt and he presses in closer, pins him to the door with his hips while he works the shirt up and off with both hands. He stops before Castiel can get his hands free of the flimsy material, fingers twisting the cotton up tight and using it to hold Castiel’s hands there, above his head.

Dean looks at him then, head angled down slightly and straight into his eyes. Their ragged breathing is loud in the quiet room, loud enough to nearly drown out the bright sounds of the party going on outside, music and laughter and the occasional suspicious thud or moan.

“Please,” Dean asks, _begs_ , and his eyes still don’t leave Castiel’s. “Tell me.”

He briefly wonders if Dean wants to know the names of all his lovers this badly, or if there’s something about _him_. Then he realises he’s being an idiot.

And that realisation is driven home when Dean’s lips curl up and his eyes crinkle in a smile that’s more predatory than it is friendly and he works a leg in between Castiel’s, presses his thigh up against Castiel’s groin. He’s hard, he can’t hide that now. Not that he was planning to, because he’s pretty sure Dean would take a lack of erection in this situation as some kind of slight against man and God.

When Dean says, “I need something to call you when I’m pounding your ass into the mattress, don’t I?” with a wicked smirk, whatever spell had existed between them for the briefest of moments is well and truly broken.

And if Castiel was thinking about giving Dean a fake name, using that as a way to distance himself so this could stay a fantasy in his head and not the slightly disappointing reality (Dean’s turning out to be kind of an entitled jerk), he’s not anymore.

He _needs_ Dean to know. Wants to tell him not only his name but his entire life story because he’s not just an easy piece of ass like Dean’s no doubt used to. He’s a person, he matters beyond what goes on in this room and so do all the other people that sleep with Dean just because he’s famous and gorgeous and talented.

This may be nothing more than a convenient fuck but Castiel at least wants to make an impression on Dean, won’t settle for being so easily forgotten. 

“My name is Castiel,” he says, taking several deep breaths as Dean finally slips the shirt over Castiel’s wrists, tosses it aside and brazenly slips his fingers under Castiel’s waist band, rough pads dragging along the tip of his cock, brushing down over the head before pulling free. “I have a brother, and a sister,” he continues breathlessly. “I’m twenty-eight years old and I work in advertising. My first boyfriend was called Timothy and he let me get to third base before he dumped me for a boy who worked at Orange Julius. I’m allergic to cats.”

“Castiel,” Dean breathes into the skin of his cheek, the air carrying the word like a song to Castiel’s ear, making him quiver and shake, grip Dean by his hips and pull him closer. Dean either didn’t hear anything beyond his name, or he’s choosing to ignore it. “I don’t know if you’re bullshitting me, man, but if you are I don’t even care,” Dean says, rolls his hips over Castiel’s. He slides their hardened pricks against each other, wringing a low-pitched moan from Castiel’s throat.

“Fucking love that name,” Dean tells him, biting down sharply on his earlobe before his arms are wrapped around Castiel’s waist and he’s spinning them around. “God, what is it about you?”

Castiel doesn’t answer. Probably because he knows Dean’s talking to himself, but if there’s anything about Castiel that Dean finds even remotely appealing Castiel would also really like to know what it is. So that he can keep on doing it, maybe use it to get Dean to fall in love with him and they can do this over and over, every night forever.

Dean walks them both over to the bed, biting at Castiel’s neck as he backs him up. He pulls back and gives Castiel a gentle shove when his legs hit something solid and Castiel falls backwards, sits on the edge of the bed and looks up at Dean. Dean’s mouth turns up at one corner and his hands go to his belt, slide the worn leather through the buckle.

The soft clinking sound of metal as he lets go and the ends hang loose is covered up by the sharp shock of a zipper being opened and Castiel’s eyes snap down, follow the slow slide of thick, calloused fingers. Time seems to grind to a halt, the metal teeth unlock one by one, each one springing free with a deafening _pop_ and Castiel swallows, mouth going dry.

His heart speeds up, thumping so hard in his chest that he thinks it might burst right through his ribcage because – and Castiel doesn’t swear often or lightly, but – holy _fuck_ , he’s about to see Dean Winchester’s penis. He’s going to touch it, going to have it _inside_ him, going to get to hear all the noises Dean makes when he builds towards orgasm. He’s going to make Dean _scream_.

He bites down hard on his lip just to make sure he’s actually awake.

He’s had this dream before, and he’s a little too old to be waking up covered in his own come with his DVD of ‘ _12 Gauge_ , Live at Arrowhead Stadium’ playing on repeat. Last time Gabriel had taken pictures.

It’s not until he hears a warm chuckle come from somewhere over his head and Dean’s voice, pitched low and rumbling, all sex and good-natured humour asking him, “See something you like?” that he realises he’s been staring, but not really seeing.

Dean’s already taken himself out and his hand is working up and down his shaft. The head sticks out from his fist, red and thick with blood, tip glistening with pre-come and Castiel can’t help himself, can’t hold back for even another second.

He reaches his hands out and grabs hold of Dean’s hips. He looks up at Dean’s face, watches in mild amusement as Dean blinks and starts to protest, but then gives in and allows Castiel to tug his pants down further, spin him around and sit him down on the bed in one swift movement. It’s not like Castiel gave him much of a choice in the matter and it looks like Dean knows when to just go with something.

Especially when Castiel falls to the floor between Dean’s spread legs, cups Dean’s balls in his hand, heavy and full and so, so perfect. He licks his lips and leans forward, tongue darting out to swipe over the underside of Dean’s cock head and Dean groans, low and deep and tilts his head back, hand resting on the bed to hold himself upright as he starts to collapse.

His neck is bared, long expanse of tanned skin that Castiel wants to sink his teeth into, would be doing it right now if his mouth wasn’t occupied by something a hundred thousand times better. He opens his mouth wider, sinks down further. His tongue tightens up, works along the prominent vein in pulsing, sucking motions and a pungent tang bursts over his tongue, best thing he’s ever tasted, because holy shit, Dean Winchester’s cock is _in his mouth_.

And Dean is moaning steadily now, his hand is on the back of Castiel’s head, not forcing, not pulling, just resting there, his fingers clenching and unclenching in the short hair as he babbles, random sounds and vague praise.

“Yeah, fuck yeah,” he says, and when Castiel looks up again his eyes are closed, long lashes splayed over slightly freckled cheeks. His mouth is hanging open in between garbled sex talk (“Suck me, yeah, just like that. Harder.”) and his lips are glistening wet where he keeps licking them. Castiel wants to lick them too. 

He will, once he gets a mouthful of Dean’s come, which judging by the way his head is thrashing slightly from side to side and the way his hips are starting to stutter up to meet Castiel each time he bobs his head down, won’t be long.

“Oh, fuck _Cas_ ,” Dean keens and Castiel has to clamp a hand down over his own cock to keep from coming in his pants. Castiel knows his name is unusual. He’s never really thought about it though, one way or the other, never really formed an opinion, doesn’t like it and doesn’t hate it.

But when Dean says it, shortened to one syllable but stretched out like it’s three, Castiel gains a whole new appreciation. It’s a great name. Fantastic even. Almost as good a name as ‘Dean’. Maybe even better, because when Castiel tries to say it, moans around Dean’s shaft and murmurs his name, it comes out garbled and ugly and yeah, he really just shouldn’t talk during sex. Especially when he’s got a mouthful of dick.

It just makes him look inexperienced and slightly moronic. He’s neither of those things.

And he intends to prove it by giving Dean the best blow job he’s ever had in his entire life.

He closes his mouth tighter, sucks harder. He changes up his technique each time Dean gets comfortable, settles into rhythm. He lets his tongue slide over the slit at the top of Dean’s prick, swirls it around and bobs back down, as far as he can. He swallows a few times until Dean is thrashing underneath him, begging incoherently and his hand is cupping the side of Castiel’s face so damn gently he thinks he might explode.

“Cas,” Dean pants, his face flushed and his eyes fluttering open to look down at where his dick is disappearing inside Castiel’s mouth. “Fuck, Cas, _please_. Please.”

Dean’s hips still and the pad of his thumb brushes over Castiel’s cheekbone. “Amazing,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “God, Cas. You’re…”

And then his hips start thrusting again, faster now, harder. And Castiel can’t take any more, can’t hold out for even another minute because Dean feels perfect under him, fits in his mouth like Castiel was built for this, like Dean was. Dean tastes better than a thousand Christmas dinners and the way he looks, the sounds he’s making, it’s like every wet dream he’s ever had come to life in front of him.

He fumbles a hand at the front of his pants, works them open and yanks himself out. Pulls on his dick a few times. A few more and he’s coming before Dean is, thick globs of white pushing past his fingers and landing on the floor in front of him.

He lets out a series of embarrassingly high-pitched moans and Dean’s hand tightens in his hair.

“Did you just…?” Dean starts to ask, sitting up a little straighter to look down at Castiel’s crotch, where his hand is still working him furiously through the aftershocks. “ _Fuck_ , that’s so hot.”

And then Dean’s gone, hips pitching forward so hard and fierce that Castiel nearly chokes as he lodges his dick halfway down his throat, hand pulling him in close and holding him there. It’s good, even though it makes his eyes water, but Dean being that far inside him has the unfortunate side effect of Castiel not being able to taste him when he comes.

He swallows anyway, doesn’t have much choice, and tries to commit every single detail of this to memory. Wants to be able to replay this over and over again, for the rest of his life, because he’s had better orgasms, sure, usually when another human being was actually touching his dick in some way, but he’s never given a better blow job, ever, and if ever there’s a time to shine, it’s when Dean Winchester picks you out of a line-up.

So yes, this is going down in the story of Castiel Milton as pretty much the best day ever.

Dean lets him go and falls back on his elbows and Castiel shifts a little to get better balance. He looks down at the floor sheepishly and then back up at Dean, embarrassed blush covered up by the flush of his recent orgasm.

“I messed up your floor,” he says stupidly, indicating the small pool of semen sitting offensively between his knees.

Dean just laughs, loud and quick, strips his shirt off over his head and tosses it over the stain. He steps on it to grind it in.

“There,” he says. “All fixed. Now get up here.”

Castiel once again takes Dean’s hand, allows Dean to pull him up. He falls forward onto the bed, half on top of Dean as Dean grins at him and brings him in close, arm around Castiel’s back.

“That was… Awesome. Thanks, man,” Dean says, and Castiel feels cold when he remembers what this is. Dean doesn’t care about him, was just using him for a little tension relief but Castiel let him, Castiel loved it, so he really can’t complain.

He opens his mouth to say ‘You’re welcome’ but that’s not what comes out.

“I have a goldfish named Spot 2. Spot died when my brother Gabriel overfed him one weekend,” he finds himself saying and even though he wants to stop, he kind of doesn’t. “I like history and I don’t understand football. I enjoy cooking but I don’t do it all that much. I’ve had a crush on you since your first album came out. I lost my virginity to a boy named Denis at our high school graduation party and I never called him after that. My last name is Milton.”

With each random, ridiculous confession he’s getting closer to Dean until finally their noses are touching and Castiel tilts his head, wants to kiss so badly he’s tingling with it, the anticipation making his head light and his chest tickle. It will probably be the most perfect kiss ever because Dean’s _lips _, Jesus.__

__But then Dean laughs, shakes his head and the moment passes._ _

__“You are one weird dude,” Dean tells him, rolling them over and pressing Castiel down, pinning him and nibbling down his collar bone. “But you give head like a fucking porn star – trust me, I’d know – so I’m willing to overlook it.”_ _

__Castiel doesn’t have time to figure out of he should take that as a compliment or an insult before Dean is pushing up and off the bed, standing and fastening his pants. Once that’s done, he walks to the closet and pulls out a clean shirt while Castiel dumbly fastens his own pants back up._ _

__“You’ll… you know,” Dean says, sliding his shirt down over his shoulders and into place, hand smoothing over his stomach as he turns back around to face Castiel. He looks amazing. Even better than he did during the concert, face still flushed and hair all sex-mussed, lips swollen from where he’s been sucking on Castiel’s neck._ _

__“I’ll…?”_ _

__“Keep this quiet.”_ _

__Castiel’s eyes harden and he stands up too, grabs his own shirt off the floor and puts it back on._ _

__“Don’t worry,” he says. “I won’t tell.”_ _

__And he won’t. Not even Anna when she asks tomorrow. He’s a private person, intensely so most times. He wouldn’t have said anything anyway, but Dean specifically asking him not to stings more than he’d like._ _

__“Thanks,” Dean says, smiles crookedly at him before he crosses the room and wraps his arms around Castiel’s waist. Stupid arms, all strong and muscled and tanned. Dean kisses him then, not like Castiel wants, it’s not deep and Earth-shattering or anything. It’s quick and light, just a slight press of lips, a shift. The barest sweep of tongue over Castiel’s lower lip and then Dean’s gone, heading towards the door and motioning Castiel along with him._ _

__He blinks and follows, because what else is he going to do?_ _

__Dean stops him after the door is opened just a crack, wraps a hand up in the cotton of Castiel’s shirt and pulls him in. Smirks down at him and drops a kiss on his cheekbone, just under his left eye. Castiel lets his eyelids slip closed, lets himself melt into Dean for just one more moment. He knows he’ll regret it but he can’t help himself._ _

__Dean’s knuckles brush over Castiel’s chest and his nose slides along Castiel’s cheek, just below the bone and all the way to his ear. “Seriously, thanks man,” Dean rasps out. “And not just for keeping quiet. This was honestly the best time I’ve had in a while.”_ _

__Castiel just nods and walks behind Dean as he heads around the corner, back into the main room of the suite. Dean heads over to the bar and Sam smirks at him and hands him a bottle of beer. He leans in close and whispers something into Dean’s ear and Dean laughs, slaps Sam on the stomach and tilts his head back, taking a long pull from the bottle._ _

__Castiel watches for a few seconds and then the blond man from earlier is back, offering him another drink. This one is bright blue and there’s some sort of smoke coming out of the cup._ _

__“I was just leaving,” he tells him, and makes his way to the door. He puts his hand on the doorknob but before he turns it he glances back towards the bar. Wants one more look._ _

__Sam’s gone now and the pretty dark haired girl who’d climbed into Castiel’s lap is now pressed in close against Dean’s side, hand settled low and possessively over his stomach while his arm is slung lazily over her shoulders._ _

__Castiel sighs and turns the knob, steps out of the room and shuts the door firmly behind him, closing in the noise. He had fun, Dean hadn’t promised him anything and the fact that he’s left feeling oddly empty is completely his own fault._ _

__This night will be a pleasant memory, he resolves, and takes out his cell phone to send a text message to his sister before he wanders into the lobby and asks the hotel concierge to call him a taxi._ _

__By the time he gets home, he’s smiling._ _

__

__TO BE CONTINUED_ _


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel doesn’t bear any ill will towards Dean Winchester.

Their night together is still a pleasant buzz in the back of Castiel’s mind, rather than the clawing, gnawing bitterness that he feared it would turn into.

It’s not a perfect memory – not even the passage of two months and the liberal application of his very greatest fantasy material can turn it into that – but it’s a good one.

Anna had asked him where he disappeared to that night in Wichita, but she’d let it go without too much trouble when he politely told her it was none of her business. Gabriel, however, has been slightly more determined.

He’d been asking questions ever since, leaving Castiel openings to fill in the blanks of his adventure. Turning _12 Gauge_ on in the car, or at one of their homes, raising a pointed eyebrow when Castiel would smile wistfully. It was infuriating, but also a little bit comforting. Gabriel is often too nosey for his own good, but he’s that way because he cares. Mostly.

He’s never going to tell anyone what happened, though. It really is none of anyone’s business, and ever since his most recent relationship ended, he’s been even more reluctant to share personal details. He’s more than happy to keep what happened with Dean a secret, a private place in his mind, a memory he can visit when he wants to, play it out again and change the ending to his heart’s content, over and over. He’s good with that.

He’ll be good with that pretty much forever.

Too bad his brother isn’t.

“Tomorrow night!” Gabriel exclaims as he wanders into Castiel’s office and slaps his hand down on Castiel’s desk.

“Is Thursday night,” Castiel tells him without looking up. “What about it?”

“We’re heading to Topeka!” He still sounds much too excited, given Topeka is not the kind of place that any Milton, even Gabriel, would get excited about spending a Thursday night. Clearwater is probably more fun.

Castiel finally does look up then.

“Forgetting for the moment that I’m not even sure what you’d want to _do_ in Topeka, what makes you think I’d agree to go with you?”

Gabriel looks at him, his face level for only a fraction of a second before it breaks out in a slow, wide grin. Then he lifts his hand off the table, revealing two colourful slips of paper, and Castiel blinks down at them. Tickets.

“Your boyfriend’s back in town,” Gabriel grins. “Or… back in state, anyway.”

Castiel stiffens and his chin juts out. “I have no delusions that Dean Winchester is in any way my _boyfriend_ ,” he says, and if he says it with a slightly bitter twist, a vehement denial that he never has before when Gabriel’s teased him, Gabriel doesn’t call him on it. “I have a celebrity crush. Nothing more.”

Gabriel looks at him oddly, mouth pulling down and head tilted to the side ever so slightly. Castiel very purposefully doesn’t squirm. Eventually Gabriel rights himself again and shrugs. “Yeah, obviously. But don’t you want another chance to ogle him up close?”

Castiel picks up the tickets and actually reads them.

“Second balcony isn’t exactly _close_.”

Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Fine. Next time _you_ buy the tickets. Ungrateful little…”

“Take Anna,” Castiel cuts his brother off, but he’s not even sure if he really means it. He wants to see Dean again, he does. He’s just not sure how it will make him feel.

Gabriel, naturally, ignores him.

“Shit,” he says, when Mr. Adler walks by Castiel’s open office door. He glares in at them for a moment, a silent warning to get back to work, before he keeps walking. “I gotta go pretend I actually do some work around here. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at three!” he warns, a parting shout as he waves over his shoulder on his way out the door.

***

Castiel doesn’t bother picking out the exact right outfit to wear.

Why would he? Chances that he’ll actually see Dean again are slim to none, erring on the side of ‘none’. He wouldn’t even know where to start looking for him after the show, and that’s assuming that he even _wants_ to.

Which he doesn’t.

Once was fun, an adventure, a nice one even. Twice would be an inevitable disappointment. Even more so with Gabriel there to witness his misguided hero-worship. So this concert tonight will only be two brothers, a road trip, some passable music and a ridiculous amount of junk food.

Castiel can handle that. It might even be fun.

So he dresses in jeans, his softest pair. Worn and dark, frayed at the cuffs and pockets. Not because they will feel nice under someone’s fingers, because no one besides himself will be touching them. He puts on a t-shirt, one he won throwing ping pong balls into mesh baskets at a carnival midway a few years back. It’s not quite as blue as his eyes, even softer than his jeans and hugs him almost obscenely, but really he’s only wearing it because it will be comfortable for three hours each way in Gabriel’s Rabbit.

When Gabriel shows up he promptly wraps Castiel up in his beaten, brown leather jacket before snagging Castiel’s trench coat and shrugging it on with a heavy sigh.

At Castiel’s raised eyebrow Gabriel only says, “I’m not the one who needs help getting laid tonight.”

***

Castiel, as it turns out, doesn’t need help either. Not that he was looking for any.

Less than an hour into the show he’s found by the same man as last time. It’s a little more difficult now, since he’s two rows into the balcony and just about in the middle of section F, but eventually Gabriel asks him to ‘Fuck off and get us a couple of beers. Or, if they have anything pink and fruity, that’s even better.’

Castiel would take offense, if he didn’t know that Gabriel honestly preferred sweet, vibrant-coloured cocktails. Besides, he’s a little thirsty himself, so he goes.

And that’s when the band’s ‘talent scout’ finds him.

“Castiel Milton?” he hears, at the same time as he feels a firm hand on his shoulder. He almost drops the drinks.

He turns around, sees the same short, harried looking man as he saw in Wichita and all he can do is nod.

“Thank God,” they man sighs, and Castiel can almost see the weight lift from his shoulders as he sags. “Please tell me you want to party tonight.”

Castiel is stunned then. He doesn’t know what the answer is, doesn’t even know what it _should_ be. He’s still and his eyes are wide, he can feel them getting dry.

“No, fuck,” the guy hisses, shaking his head like he can literally feel Castiel’s apprehension through where his hand still rests on Castiel’s shoulder. He jerks his hand back and shakes his head again. “No pressure. Jesus. Dean doesn’t want you if you don’t want to be there, but… I’ve been running up and down stairs for last two months looking for you, man. Put me out of my misery.”

“Dean… wants me there?” Again, he’s not sure how he should feel. What he _does_ feel, is hope. Stupid, stupid hope. 

The man gives him a half smile. “I’m gonna say yes.”

Castiel doesn’t have anything to say to that.

“Is that a ‘yes’? Oh, my name’s Chuck, by the way. In case you ever need anything, or... Just ask around for me.” 

If he ever needs anything? That… gives Castiel the distinct impression that this… that _Chuck_ believes Castiel might be somewhat of a permanent fixture on the scene. He’s very, very wrong about that, but he doesn’t bother to correct him.

“My brother…” Castiel says, eyes darting toward Gabriel, who’s got his feet up on the chair in front of his own, drumming out a beat on his knees along with Adam.

The man doesn’t even bother to follow his gaze. “Bring him,” he says. “So is that a ‘yes’?”

“I… yes,” Castiel finds himself saying.

Thirty seconds later he’s back in his seat with an address for an upscale hotel and a suite number for a Mister ‘Winston Smith’ written on the back of his hand. Funny, Dean hadn’t seemed like much of a George Orwell Fan. Must have been someone else’s choice.

***

Gabriel is unsurprisingly easy to convince, no doubt due to his rampant and undisguised curiosity about how his little brother had gotten a VIP invite to see the band after the show. It probably also doesn’t hurt that in the whole of Castiel’s memory, he’s never once known Gabriel to turn down a party.

***

By the time they get to the hotel it’s almost one in the morning and the party is in full swing.

“We’re late,” Castiel scolds as he gives his name to the man outside the door and they get waved inside.

“I was hungry!” Gabriel explains, for the third time. “Shit, what do you care, anyway? I’m sure Sam’ll let you blow him even if someone else got there first.”

Castiel stiffens as the door shuts behind them and Gabriel slams into his back.

“Cas?” Gabriel asks and Castiel turns around, scowling. It’s not the truth, but Gabriel’s teasing hits a little close to home. Yes, it’s very possible that Dean has already found someone to entertain him tonight and he’s not sure what he’ll do if that’s the case. “Oh, shit, seriously? Fuck, I’m sorry, bro. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because there’s nothing to tell,” Castiel says. “I’m not interested in Sam, and I didn’t get us invited here tonight so that I could…” He trails off and slips a little further into the room, Gabriel at his side.

That’s when he sees Dean.

He’s sitting on a barstool with his back resting against the bar, a beer in his hand a girl on his lap. She’s straddling him, her legs swaying back and forth slightly and Dean’s hand is on the small of her back, holding her in place.

Sam is on the stool next to him and they seem to be talking very animatedly about something or other but then a handsome young man walks up to Sam, tugs on his hand and Sam gives Dean a small wave, disappears around the corner with his friend.

Gabriel, obviously, gets the wrong impression at the hard line of Castiel’s jaw.

“Shit, bro. That’s rough. I’ll get you a hooker to make up for it.”

“I’m not interested in Sam, Gabriel,” he sighs. Then, “I think we should go.”

But then Dean looks up, the loud clatter of someone knocking over the coat rack by the door grabbing his attention, and he catches Castiel’s eyes.

Dean’s own eyes go wide for a split second but then he’s smiling, a big toothy grin and he leans down to mumble something into the girl's ear before he kisses her and she slips off his lap. Now that Castiel can see her profile as she wanders off he recognises her. It’s the girl he spoke with last time, the one that crawled on top of him, stuck her hand down his pants and proclaimed Dean a ‘giver’ in the bedroom.

She doesn’t seem at all bothered that Dean has seemingly just given her the brush off. She just moves off to join a few others in a circle on the floor and grabs herself a drink.

Dean gets up from his stool and crosses the room, comes to stand in front of Castiel and Gabriel.

“Cas,” he says, still smiling although it’s muted now, the normal smile you’d give someone when you welcomed them. “Glad you could make it, man. Who’s your friend?”

“ _Friend_ might be stretching the bounds of our defined relationship slightly,” Castiel mumbles and Gabriel elbows him in the ribs. “Dean, this is my brother, Gabriel.”

“Ah,” Dean says with a knowing smirk. “The fish killer.”

“Hey!” Gabriel protests, shooting Castiel a dirty look. “How was I supposed to know they don’t like nachos?”

 _Nachos_? Castiel thinks, because that’s new information, but he’s unable to properly read his brother the riot act at this point because he’s got other things on his mind. Not only does Dean remember who he is, not only has he sent someone out to search for him so that Dean can see him again, but he remembers some small piece of random trivia about Gabriel killing his fish.

That’s… Castiel can’t help but smile, even though he feels more than a little bad for Spot.

“You fed nachos to a goldfish?” Dean asks.

Gabriel shrugs. “I like them.”

Dean and Gabriel share a smile at that. Castiel has no doubt that Dean likes nachos too. He’d like to find out for sure. He’d like to find out a lot of things about Dean.

“Well, help yourself to whatever we got here, man,” Dean says, motions over to the bar, the wide assortment of food and drinks available. “If they don’t have nachos, just call room service. Make yourself at home.”

Gabriel grins widely and takes off towards the bar with a parting slap on Dean’s arm.

“You might be sorry you said that,” Castiel says, unable to stop himself from leaning in closer to Dean when Dean shifts his feet in invitation. “You might not want to look at your bill in the morning. Gabriel can eat a surprising amount.”

Dean snorts and shakes his head. “Probably not any more than Sammy. Besides, if it means you’re here, I think I’ll have a hard time caring about a few extra bucks.”

Castiel nods and swallows audibly when Dean leans in close for the briefest of moments, brushes his hip against Castiel’s. He turns abruptly, breaking off the contact after breathing a puff of warm air against Castiel’s cheek.

“Shall we?” Dean asks, and holds out his hand in the direction of a darkened hallway.

Castiel’s eyes dart to the girl again – he can’t help it – but she isn’t even looking. He nods again and follows behind Dean.

***

The door has barely shut behind them before Castiel is pinned to it, Dean’s lips a familiar pressure against the side of his neck. He gets hard almost instantly and shamelessly starts to spread his legs, pulling Dean in closer so that Dean’s thigh slides between his own.

“Mmmm,” Dean groans into the skin just behind his ear. “You taste so good. _Feel_ so good. God, the things I’m gonna do to you, Cas.”

Oh, yes. If Castiel wasn’t already hard, hearing that, picturing all those things Dean might be imaging, would certainly do it. He wants to tell Dean yes, tell him he can do absolutely anything he wants and he can do it right now, and preferably all night. He _wants_ to, he really does.

So of course what he actually says is, “Is she your girlfriend?”

“Huh?” Dean asks, pulling back with a slight frown. “Is who my girlfriend?”

“That woman you were with when I came in. I saw you with her last time, as well.”

“You mean Tessa?” Tessa. It’s a pretty name. She’s a pretty girl. “Nah, she’s… we have fun sometimes, but she ain’t my girlfriend. I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Dean grabs him by the hand and slips his leg out from between Castiel’s, walks them both across the room in the direction of the bed.

“She tried to initiate sexual contact with me in Wichita,” he says, but he’s not entirely sure why. That’s probably something he shouldn’t be talking about. He’s not sure how Dean will take it.

But Dean just laughs, throws his head back and his teeth shine in the dark. “Oh man, you and Tessa. Now that’s something I’d want a front row seat for.” 

Castiel frowns. “Why is that funny?”

Dean smiles at him and sits down on the bed, pulls Castiel with him and pushes him down onto his back. “It’s not funny,” Dean whispers, still smiling as he rolls onto his side and presses in close, loops one of his legs over Castiel’s to hold him down. His hands grab onto the hem of Castiel’s shirt and start to work it up.

“It’s hot, is what it is.”

And then Castiel can’t see, because his shirt is being slid up over his face and he can’t breathe because Dean’s tongue is working slick circles over one nipple. “You’d look…” Dean starts, and breaks off to close his teeth down softly over the sensitive nub. He strips Castiel’s shirt the rest of the way off, threads the fingers of both his hands through Castiel’s and keeps them pinned to the bed at either side of his head.

“Really hot,” he finishes as he pulls back, gives Castiel a meaningful once over, eyes trailing from head to toe and back again.

“I’m gay,” he says, and his voice is surprisingly level, given the tremor of need he feels vibrating throughout his body.

Dean stops with his face half way back down to Castiel’s chest, looks up at him and frowns.

“Uh… good,” he says. “Because I’m kinda tryin’ to fuck you here, Cas, and if you weren’t into dick that might get a little awkward.”

Castiel lets out an aggravated sigh that quickly turns to one of desire when one of Dean’s hands lets go of his to start a slow, tickling trail down his arm and over his ribs to land at his hip.

“I meant that it’s not likely that I’ll be sexually intimate with Tessa, or any other woman.”

“Let it go, man,” Dean tells him, chuckling slightly. “It was just a passing thought. Besides, I plan on keepin’ you busy for a while.”

Dean’s up and off the bed a second later, stripping off his own shirt, t-shirt and worn jeans. With a sly grin and slight bend, his underwear joins the discarded pile of clothing and Castiel is frozen, thinks he might actually not be able to move, or speak. _Ever again_. Because sure, he was lucky enough to give Dean Winchester a blow job once, but now he’s seeing him naked. _Completely naked_ and it’s… it’s like Christmas and his birthday – like _every_ Christmas and _every_ birthday – all rolled into one.

Dean’s… perfect. Tanned and toned, soft skin over lean, sleek muscle. Castiel wants to stare at him forever. 

“Well?” Dean just says, quirking a brow and jerking his chin pointedly toward Castiel’s own still-clothed lower half.

And then Castiel proves himself wrong about being frozen in place for the rest of his life, because he snaps into action faster than he thought possible. He unfastens and lowers his pants, kicks them (along with his briefs) down and off his legs, and Dean rejoins him on the bed.

Only now, for some reason, Castiel isn’t so sure. They’ll fuck, it will no doubt be fantastic, and then Castiel will leave, walk out of the room and out of Dean’s life and Dean won’t even miss him. He’ll miss Dean though. He’s proud of himself for being able to compartmentalise so far, to take what happened between them last time and put it away, keep it separate from reality, but he doesn’t know that he’ll be able to do that again.

Casual sex, as a rule, is not something Castiel is interested in, but he knows it’s all Dean is offering.

He must have retreated into himself enough that he isn’t responding satisfactorily to Dean’s advances, because Dean’s fingers still on his stomach and his mouth comes off his chest leaving a wet, bruising patch just over his sternum. “You okay, man?” he asks, and he actually sounds concerned. Like he really might care what the answer is. “If you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to.”

Only he does. He really, really does, because Dean is just as beautiful in person as he is on television and in magazines. He’s _more_ beautiful, actually, without the airbrushing and flattering lighting. His freckles, his laugh lines, a few tiny scars on his hands and the pimple on his chin. It all makes him human, real. Makes this whole thing real. And Dean’s not pretending this is something it isn’t. He’s genuine, if a bit of a spoiled brat, and he’s starting to seem like a decent person underneath it all.

And that, really – that part of Dean he’s seeing in the occasional unguarded moments when he’s not playing his role – that’s the problem. He’s _falling_ for Dean. Or, he will be anyway, if he keeps this up. He _likes_ Dean.

“No, I…” he says, shaking his head. “I do. I…”

Dean purses his lips like he doesn’t quite believe him, but thankfully gives him the benefit of the doubt. If he asks again, Castiel isn’t so sure what his answer will be, so he’s glad when Dean just picks up where he left off and takes it from there.

Dean’s fingertips ghost over his stomach and lower, through the thick thatch of hair over his pubic bone. Up again and over his cock, which only hardens further at the touch. Castiel gasps and his head jerks back, hips thrusting up into Dean’s grip and that’s it. All his doubts are gone, vanished in the face of so much intense pleasure and all he’s capable of doing at this point is riding it out, enjoying himself and hoping Dean does the same.

Dean clenches his fist tighter, starts to pump it up and down. Castiel lets out a quiet squeak and his hands clamp down hard on Dean’s shoulders when Dean’s fingers skate over his cockhead, collecting the slippery pre-come. The sound he lets out when Dean’s hand leaves him is equal parts relief and sorrow, because lying there under Dean, looking up into his eyes with Dean’s hand on him, working him (even if it’s not all that skilled) threatens to send him over the edge even faster than last time.

But then Dean’s hand is back, thumb pushing up behind his balls and lifting them as a single fingertip presses up against his hole. Castiel keens slightly and spreads his legs wider, allowing Dean better access and the finger slips all the way in.

They let out twin gasps, two deep, sucking breaths of pleasure when Dean swirls it around, catches Castiel’s prostate on the third try. If he hadn’t believed Dean before when he said it had been years since he’d been with a man, he believes it now. Not that Dean is bad – far from it. He’s just out of practice, but he seems to be getting back into the swing rather quickly.

A handful of minutes later Dean’s mouth is once again latched to the side of Castiel’s neck and there are three fingers inside him, pumping and curling in just the right way. His cock his leaking profusely now, the tip red and angry and pressed up against his belly while he pumps his hips up against Dean’s hand.

Castiel still has his own hands gripping tightly to Dean’s shoulders, and other than the occasional buck of his hips and clench of his fingers, he hasn’t really moved. Hasn’t touched Dean at all, which just won’t do. He needs to make Dean feel just as good as Dean is making him feel. Needs Dean to remember this, remember _him_.

“I took my dad’s car once,” he says, even though what he actually wants to do with his mouth is kiss Dean silly, grab Dean’s dick and slide his hand up and down it, make him come all over them both. “We were grounded, Gabriel and I, and I took the car out to see a movie. I put a scratch in the paint and blamed it on my brother and he was grounded for another month because of it. He never told.”

He looks straight at Dean when his mouth detaches from Castiel’s collar bone and Dean blinks down at him. “ _Jesus_ ,” Dean says after a moment, his eyes bright and intense. “You just…”

And then Dean’s gone again, Castiel left breathless and needy, feeling the loss of Dean’s touch acutely as Dean digs through his discarded jeans.

“Touch yourself,” Dean instructs as he pulls out his wallet. Castiel’s hand grips his dick so fast he thinks it might leave a bruise. He works it up and down and groans quietly as Dean pulls out a small foil packet and throws his wallet in the general direction of the pile of their combined clothing.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean breathes, the words coming out on a soft exhale as he scrambles between Castiel’s legs. Castiel bends his knees even more, lets Dean see him and he’s rewarded with a low moan, an almost pained sound as Dean tears open the condom package and rolls it down over his erection. “More.”

Castiel’s other hand moves almost of its own volition, fingers slipping down and crooking up, sliding inside him where Dean’s were only seconds ago, where he feels empty and he quivers in anticipation.

That will be Dean soon. That will be Dean’s cock, inside him, Dean’s hands and lips will play over his body and Dean will fuck him. Castiel has to bite his lip to keep from coming at the mere thought.

“Shit, that’s… Cas. One of the hottest things I’ve ever seen. So good, baby. Could make me come just like this. Just _watching_ you. God, what you do to me. Fuck.” 

Dean is talking now, low words that he might not even realise he’s saying because he’s not looking at Castiel’s face. He’s looking down, where his fingers are disappearing inside him, where his other hand is wrapped around his leaking cock. His own fingers are forming a ring around the base and Castiel can see that he’s coiled tight with tension, trying to hold still and fight the urge to lunge forward and sink himself inside Castiel’s heat.

Castiel doesn’t want him to hold back.

“I ate an entire chicken pot pie when I was five years old, and threw up all over my mother’s Persian rug,” he blurts out, when what he’d really meant to say was ‘fuck me’.

Wow, if Castiel ever gets laid again it will be a miracle. What the hell is wrong with him?

Dean stills for a moment, his body jerks in slight shock and he blinks. Then that same killer smile, the one that lures you in and makes you believe things you have no business believing spreads across his face. “Shit, Cas. I’m so glad you showed up tonight.”

Castiel tries to answer but whatever he was about to say gets swallowed up into a broken groan when one of Dean’s fingers joins two of Castiel’s inside him and Dean’s thumb presses up against the base of his cock.

“Cas… come on, man,” Dean says, and he sounds just as broken as Castiel does, his voice hitching and wet. “Please. God, _please_.” Castiel takes just a moment to appreciate that he’s reduced Dean to begging, _again_ , and it’s even better than before. He wants to make it a habit. “You’ve gotta… Can I? Say yes.”

“Yes,” Castiel answers, without hesitation, and Dean sighs in relief. His hand pulls free, takes Castiel’s with it and they both guide Dean to his entrance.

But then Dean stops, pauses over him and curses.

“Fuck!” he says and Castiel can feel the tension in Dean’s arm where his free hand is resting next to his shoulder..

“What is it?” he asks, even though he’s almost sure he doesn’t want to know. Just wants Dean in him.

“I’ve gotta…” he says and pushes back a little, looks in the direction of the bathroom, then his suitcase. “Lube. Right? Gotta find something. Shit, I should have thought of this. Don’t really need it most of the time, you know?”

Castiel nearly collapses in on himself with relief. “Don’t worry about it,” he tells Dean, and waits until Dean’s eyes are focussed on his before he continues. “I like the burn.”

Dean lets out a slow groan and covers Castiel’s body with his own, angles his cock so the rounded head just slides inside. “Tryin’ to fuckin’ kill me, aren’t you?”

“Oh, God, _Dean_ ,” Castiel says by way of answer, as Dean pushes in further and further and eventually bottoms out.

There isn’t any more talking after that, just heavy breathing, gasps and low keening sounds. Dean’s hands are everywhere, his lips are everywhere but Castiel’s mouth, and Castiel manages to cup Dean’s ass in his palms, pull him close as he bucks up to meet his thrusts.

Dean’s breath is warm on his face, his neck, and Dean’s mumbling but Castiel can’t pick out the words. It’s okay, he thinks, because he’s doing some mumbling of his own and just when he thinks it can’t get any better Dean sits back. His arms wrap around Castiel’s legs to push them up and apart, pin him immobile to the bed with his own fingers resting on Dean’s forearms and Dean _fucks him_.

Thrusts in harder and harder as Castiel loses coherency, changes his angle based on the sounds Castiel makes and it’s not long before Castiel is the one begging.

“Dean,” he gasps. “God, Dean. Need to…”

“Do it,” Dean rasps out, and he sounds like he’s barely maintaining control. Which of course causes Castiel’s own control to slip just a little more. “Fucking… do it. Touch yourself. Wanna see you, Cas.”

It would take a much stronger man than Castiel to refuse that order, so he obeys with relish. His fingers are warm from the flush of arousal and just the barest touch is enough to have him panting, for his face to tighten with need and his head to rock back, baring his throat.

“Fuck yeah,” Dean whispers above him. Castiel’s hand starts to move faster, Dean’s short, sharp thrusts are relentless and it isn’t long before Castiel is coming, wound up and let loose, spine pulled back like a bow and mouth open as he cries out wordlessly. He makes a mess of his hand, of his stomach and Dean’s.

It only seems to spur Dean on.

Castiel’s ass is sore by the end, the final few pushes of Dean inside him brutal and harsh.

“Jesus Christ,” Dean pants out, letting himself fall down flat on top of Castiel as he tries to catch his breath. “How are you real?”

Castiel doesn’t even try to answer. He also tries very hard not to read too much into the question.

“Why did you ask me here, Dean?” He asks after Dean has rolled over and rid himself of the used condom. “You could have anyone.”

Dean rolls onto his side to face Castiel and instead of closing off or pulling away like Castiel thinks he’ll do, he moves even closer, slings an arm across Castiel’s chest and his fingertips play absently over the outline of his ribs.

“Why did you come?” Dean counters.

“You’re Dean Winchester,” Castiel says simply.

Dean just smiles, but it’s more honest this time, like he actually finds the idea that someone would do something just because of who he is amusing.

They lapse into a comfortable silence and Castiel watches the minutes on the digital clock by the bed tick by one by one. By the time 2:15am rolls around Castiel figures Gabriel will probably be looking for him, and his stomach muscles tighten as he makes to get up.

Dean’s hand presses down firmly on his stomach though and Castiel looks over at him questioningly, but allows Dean to hold him in place.

“I uh…” Dean says, clears his throat and his eyes dart to the wall over Castiel’s head before they settle on Castiel’s face again. “I got into my very first fist fight when I was thirteen. Some asshole in the schoolyard thought it would be funny to pants Sammy. Showed that fucker what funny was. And I… I don’t like turnips.”

Castiel’s chest tightens and then tickles, feels like it’s inflating so much he might float away.

“Dean…”

“Stay the night.”

“I have work.”

Dean offers him a grin and his arm slips around to hold him tighter. “I’ll write you a note.”

In the end, Castiel stays. It’s not like he ever really had a choice.

***

Castiel sleeps fitfully, more interested in watching Dean doze than in getting any actual sleep himself.

When the numbers on the clock roll over to 5:30am he figures that if he gets up now they’ll just barely make it back to Clearwater in time for work. That is, if Gabriel hasn’t left already and Castiel has to find some other way home, which is a distinct possibility.

He spends another two or three minutes looking at Dean, tracing the lines of his face and chest with his eyes, lets his finger run the length of the sheet where it rests over Dean’s stomach. 

He wants to stay. This is exactly what he didn’t want to happen.

He sighs to himself and gets up, dresses quickly and quietly and wanders out into the main room.

The first thing he sees is Sam, passed out on one of the couches. His head is on the armrest and one leg is bent over the back, the other splayed out on the floor. There’s a man sprawled on top of him, slotted between his legs with his head resting on Sam’s chest. They’re both snoring softly.

There are a half dozen other people spread around the room, some in more comfortable looking positions than others. Tessa is nowhere to be seen but Gabriel is there, and it looks like he managed okay for himself last night, despite Castiel’s disappearance. He’s on another couch with a woman – both of them fully clothed, for which Castiel is eternally grateful – and they both look peaceful in their slumber.

Castiel only feels slightly bad when he crosses to them and smacks his brother in the head to wake him. Gabriel bolts upright with a startled cry, hands batting at the air in front of him and the girl who’d been in his lap carefully ducks out of the way.

“Huh?” Gabriel garbles, blinking his eyes open. His face is creased from the seams in the couch and one eye opens wider than the other, half his face flushed pink.

“We need to leave,” Castiel tells him.

Gabriel blinks again and nods, vaguely. “We need coffee.”

Castiel actually agrees with that, so he heads over to the bar where he hopes he might find some, or at least something close.

What he finds, is Adam Milligan.

“Hey,” the young man says, nodding at Castiel and pushing two hot paper cups across the counter to him. “I’m Adam.”

Castiel accepts the cups with a grateful nod. “Castiel.”

Adam nods back and Castiel isn’t quite sure if the conversation is finished yet, but when neither of them has said anything in going on half a minute and Gabriel appears at his side to snag one of the cups of coffee, Castiel grabs his own and decides to call it.

“My brother,” Adam says, just as Castiel is turning to go. “Dean. He’s actually not a bad guy.”

“I never said that he was,” Castiel tells Adam, brows pulled tight.

“No, but… Look, I know he’s not perfect, but don’t write him off, is all I’m saying.”

Castiel isn’t sure what the correct response to that is, so he goes for the most polite he can manage. “I… thank you.”

“See you around, Castiel,” Adam says, and Castiel ignores Gabriel’s raised eyebrows as he leads them out of the hotel and into Gabriel’s car.

***

“You,” Gabriel says, after they’ve stopped for gas and are tearing up blacktop to make it home before Mr. Adler tears them a new one for being late, “fucked Dean Winchester?”

Castiel, of course, ignores him.

“I’m impressed, little brother! I could have sworn he didn’t even bat for your team.”

“He doesn’t.”

“Oh, so that wasn’t him with you all night long, locked away in a bedroom?”

“Please, Gabriel,” he says, and he must sound serious enough because Gabriel snaps his mouth shut and just listens. “I’m not even sure how it happened, or _why_ it happened, or even really what happened at all. I just… we’ve decided not to talk about it. It’s… private.”

“Yeah,” Gabriel says, blinks and shakes his head. “Yeah, sure bro. But hey, if you need me for anything, like to talk, or…”

“Thank you,” Castiel cuts him off, because it’s never a pleasant experience when Gabriel gets emotional. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

It’s not until they’re half way home, Castiel slouched in the passenger seat and checking his messages, that he sees it. A new entry added to his contact list. A Mister Winston Smith.

Castiel’s thumb hovers precariously over the ‘Delete Contact’ button, but just before it presses down it slides across the screen and lands on ‘Cancel’.

He doesn’t plan on calling, but keeping Dean’s number won’t hurt anyone.


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel sends Dean a picture of Spot 2.

He’s not entirely sure why.

He’s feeding her one day, watching her swim to the surface of the water and gulp down the pale orange flakes like he does twice a day every day, and then suddenly he’s snapping her photograph. It’s the first time he’s ever taken her picture (she’s a fish, so it hadn’t really seemed all that important, and he’s only assuming she’s a ‘she’ as Anna had said she has feminine colouring) and the camera on his phone isn’t the best so the picture quality is a little fuzzy, but it will do.

He looks at the image on his screen, a little blurry due to the ripples in the water as her mouth breaks the surface, and sends the picture to the contact that’s still labelled Winston Smith in his phone. He hasn’t bothered to change it. If he’d gone to the trouble of opening the entry up at all before now he’d probably have just deleted it.

But he hasn’t and Dean’s number is still in there and now Dean Winchester, a gorgeous rock star who is totally and completely out of Castiel’s league, is currently looking at a random picture of a goldfish that’s being sent to him by a crazy man.

He regrets it immediately, wishes he could take it back the second he hits ‘send’. He feels ridiculous about it for an entire week, until he gets a small brown package in the mail.

There’s no return address, no corporate shipping label, but when he opens it and see’s what’s inside he smiles. It’s a small ceramic castle, meant for a fish tank, shimmering pink with an open front door and window. A perfect place for Spot 2 to hide. There are also tickets.

One for a _12 Gauge_ show in Denver two weeks from now and one for a return flight out of Wichita. There’s also a note, unsigned. It simply tells him the name and address of a hotel, with instructions to check in under his own name. A room will be reserved.

He doesn’t even consider not going, just books the day off work two Thursdays from now and asks Gabriel to drive him to the airport Wednesday afternoon.

***

His flight lands at ten after seven so he goes straight to the concert. It’s not a problem since he hasn’t actually packed anything, so he doesn’t need to carry any bags around with him. It’s unlike him, to take off overnight without even a toothbrush, but he can buy one at the hotel. A razor too, if he needs it and he’s dressed comfortably, in jeans and a t-shirt which he can wear again tomorrow.

He doesn’t plan on sleeping in anything at all.

***

The show is enjoyable. Dean looks amazing, the band sounds great, and Castiel feels good. The girls seated next to him are loudly discussing their plans to sneak into a hotel that a friend told them about – the short brunette wants to sleep with Dean and the even shorter redhead wants Adam – and Castiel can’t help but grin, because he knows they’re both out of luck.

From what he’s seen so far, Adam tends not to sleep around and Castiel happens to know that Dean already has plans tonight.

***

He checks in at the front desk and is given a keycard to a room on the sixth floor. He knows the rest of the band, the party, will be upstairs in one of the suites and he’s not sure if he should feel relieved or insulted that Dean has thought to get them something a little more private.

In truth, he’s a little of both.

When he lets himself into the room, it’s empty. He’s not surprised that he beat Dean there – he probably had to wait until the others were ready to go, perhaps stop for pictures or autographs – but he turns on the light and looks around.

It’s a nice room. Of course it is. There’s a note on the desk, a folded piece of hotel stationary sitting next to a box of condoms and tube of lubricant. Castiel huffs out a laugh and shakes his head, picking up the note.

_Cas,_  
Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be there as soon as I can.  
\--D 

Beneath the messy scrawl there is a rendering. Two stick figures in what is no doubt supposed to be a shower. One of them is on his knees.

Castiel smiles honestly and tosses the sheet of paper back down on the desk. With a mental shrug he picks up both the condoms and the lube and brings them into the bathroom, puts them down on the counter before he strips. He folds his clothes and hangs them over the towel bar because he’s not going to leave them to get wrinkled and wet on the bathroom floor if he has to wear them tomorrow, and steps into the shower.

He turns the water on as hot as he can stand, uses the liquid shower soap that Dean must have left there because it’s way too good to be provided by the hotel. He washes himself thoroughly, scrubbing away eighteen hours – a day’s work, a plane ride and a rock concert’s worth of sweat and grime.

Ten minutes later he feels great. Refreshed and excited and his dick is starting to harden just thinking about what’s going to happen when Dean shows up. He’s just about to turn the water off and dry off, he’s thinking about opening up the KY and getting himself ready. 

The look on Dean’s face when he finds Castiel already slicked up is something he thinks he’d greatly enjoy and that alone is reason enough, but he doesn’t get the chance.

His hand is halfway to the faucet when the shower curtain opens and the air rushing in creates a chill on his skin, sending it up in gooseflesh. He stands abruptly and turns, sees Dean standing there, naked and smiling and he can’t help the flush that comes over his skin that has nothing to do with the heat of the shower.

“Don’t stand on my account,” Dean says, grin turning sly as he steps into the shower. “You look pretty good bent over like that.”

“Just pretty good?” Castiel asks, raising an eyebrow and stepping back to make room.

Dean growls a little, low in his throat and backs Castiel up against the shower wall, hands on Castiel’s hips as he presses against him. He ducks his head and slides his cheek along Castiel’s, stubble catching as he rasps into his ear. “Fucking amazing.”

“It’s,” Castiel starts. He stops to gasp when Dean rocks his hips, slides the bone against Castiel’s erection and he can feel Dean’s own cock starting to grow hard in the groove of his hip. His head tilts back against the shower wall and he lets Dean kiss across his jaw and down over his neck. “It’s good to see you.”

He sounds breathless, _is_ breathless and he feels the rumbling vibrations of Dean laughing against him.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees as he nuzzles the hollow of Castiel’s throat. “My day is suddenly looking up.”

“It seems like you’ve been having a good day regardless,” Castiel tells him as he presses them harder into the wall and Castiel’s legs fall apart so that Dean can slide in between them. “Your show was fantastic.”

Dean pulls back then and his eyes skitter down to the tub floor before they come back up. “Thanks,” he mumbles, and Castiel feels his heart beat double. It’s impossible to fall in love with someone you hardly know, isn’t it?

“I almost drowned when I was fifteen,” Castiel is suddenly saying, because he’s afraid if he doesn’t fill the silence somehow he’ll end up actually _telling_ Dean he loves him. Which would be stupid, because it’s not true. Probably. “We were swimming in the lake and Gabriel held me under too long. Anna had to give me mouth to mouth.”

Dean blinks but then his eyes darken and he grips Castiel’s thighs, hoists him up so that his legs wrap around Dean’s waist and he’s pressed between Dean and the wall. 

“I remembered lube this time,” Dean says, sliding his eyes down Castiel’s chest.

Castiel smiles, leaves one hand on the wall to keep his balance and cups Dean’s cheek with the other. “I noticed. That was very thoughtful.”

“Fuck,” Dean curses and looks up again. “Wrap your legs around me tighter. Don’t fall.”

And then one of Dean’s hands is gone from his thigh. He shifts a little, regains his balance. He nearly loses it again when Dean’s hand wraps around his cock, long, solid fingers gripping him tight and sliding up and down.

“Jesus,” Dean whispers as Castiel sucks in a sharp breath. His stomach muscles clench and flutter under Dean’s knuckles when he strokes down and Dean’s eyes are riveted to the action. “God, I’ve been thinking about this all week. Feel even better than I remembered.”

Castiel can only moan, jerk his hips up as far as he can without falling and let Dean touch him. His hands feel amazing, his legs are strong, his arms solid. His lips feel like heaven when they ghost across Castiel’s face and his breath smells like smoke and whisky.

He never wants to leave this shower, except maybe to crawl into the bed that’s waiting out there for them. Which is actually sounding like a really great idea. Because the condoms and lubrication aren’t in the shower with them.

“Dean,” he says quietly and Dean bites down on his collar bone, starts to stroke him faster which only makes Castiel keen pathetically. “Dean. I want you inside me. Please.”

“Hmmm,” Dean answers, a non-committal mumble. “Later.”

Dean shifts then, opens his grip so that he can slip his own cock into it, rubs it against Castiel’s and starts to stroke them both. They groan, breath shallow as they rut together. Castiel isn’t going to last long, which is probably Dean’s plan. They have all night after all, plenty of time for other things after they take the edge off.

“Fuck, Cas, I’m close,” Dean says, his voice sounding tense and strung out. It’s nice. “Come on, baby. Come with me. Want your hand too.”

Castiel obeys immediately. His hand slides down Dean’s chest and joins Dean’s hand, jerking them both as the hot spray of the shower trickles off their bodies and over their sensitive cockheads. “Yeah,” Dean breathes, warm puffs of air from his mouth mixing with the steam from the shower over Castiel’s lips. “Fuck, yeah. Just like that. Come on, Cas. Come on. So close. Please.”

Castiel’s hand tightens on top of Dean’s and they both gasp. 

“God. Yeah. Just need…”

And then Castiel can’t keep his mouth shut, because _damn_ the look on Dean’s face is making him crazy. It’s like he’s going to come any second, like he needs to so bad it _hurts_ and Castiel put that look there. Dean wants Castiel, wants to bring him over the edge with him, flew him across two states so they could have this.

They haven’t even talked, not really. Not unless they’re mid-fuck and even then it’s mostly just a series of ‘oh God’s and ‘right there’s and ‘don’t stop’s. This, here in the throes of passion is really their only chance to get to know each other. And Castiel can’t help but take advantage, now that he knows Dean doesn’t seem to mind.

“My best friend when I was kid was called Michael. He came with my family to our cabin in Michigan over winter break and dared me to walk on the lake even though we knew it wasn’t frozen enough. I did it and fell through. I spent the rest of week curled up in front of the fire and drinking hot cocoa. Gabriel punched him in the stomach.”

Dean pauses for half a second and then bucks forward violently, his hand a blur over their dicks, pulling Castiel’s along with it.

“ _Fuuuuck_ ,” Dean groans, a long, drawn-out sound as he comes. Castiel takes the briefest of moments to indulge in a little pride. It’s not typical of him, but he can’t help it this time. Dean came first, he pushed Dean past the brink just by being there, by letting Dean touch him. The moment doesn’t last long and then Castiel is coming as well, heels digging into the soft flesh of Dean’s ass as he spurts out sticky streams of translucent white over their hands.

Seconds later Dean takes his hand away, puts it back under Castiel to take some of the weight off his legs and then he’s kissing him. Deep and messy, tongue pushing past Castiel’s lips and into his mouth, sliding across his teeth.

It’s bliss, pushes that floating boneless feeling to the limit so that the only thing keeping him from falling is Dean, holding him up, keeping him steady as they taste each other. By the time Dean finally backs off with several small bites to Castiel’s bottom lip Castiel is dizzy, can barely breathe.

“Cas,” Dean pants, and Castiel feels his chest lighten and expand. “Oh my God, Cas. Can I keep you?”

“I might not fit in your luggage,” Castiel says, narrowly subverting the ‘please do’ that wants to escape his lips.

Dean chuckles as he carefully unwraps Castiel’s legs from around his waist and lowers him to the tub floor. He reaches out to shut the water off and opens the shower curtain, grabbing a towel and handing it to Castiel before he grabs one for himself.

“No, you’re probably right,” he says as they step out of the shower and start to dry off. “Plus, you might get fired if you never show up for work again.”

Castiel would have a hard time caring if it meant that he got to spend all his time with Dean, but he grumbles something in the affirmative.

Dean kisses him again as he takes his towel, tosses them both on the floor and leads Castiel out of the bathroom.

“Come on, hot stuff,” he says, shooting Castiel a playful wink. “We’ve got that big huge bed waiting for us.”

Neither of them is in any shape to use the bed for anything recreational at the moment, but Castiel wouldn’t say no to lying down for a little while. Or the rest of the night. He’s feeling decadently lazy at the moment.

Dean spins Castiel around when they reach the bed and tosses him down, smiles at him and climbs on beside him. “TV?” he asks and Castiel shrugs in response. He doesn’t much care, as long as he’s next to Dean.

Dean picks up the remote and flicks the television on. It powers up with the local news, coverage of the concert earlier and Dean screws up his face and quickly changes to a different station. “I hate watching myself,” he confides and switches to the discovery channel.

He tosses the remote back on the table and turns towards Castiel, wraps his arm around Castiel’s back and pulls him close.

“Thanks for coming,” he says and kisses Castiel again, a quick press of his lips before they’re gone.

“Of course,” Castiel answers automatically. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“I uh… I almost meant it, you know? About keepin’ you. I kinda wouldn’t mind coming home to you more often.”

Castiel wouldn’t mind either. At all. But he knows they can’t have that, and he’s mostly okay with it. He doesn’t say that, though, or anything at all. They lapse into a comfortable silence for a while, both of them on their backs with their heads propped up on an abundance of pillows while they watch some show about volcanoes.

Eventually Castiel breaks the silence, although not in the way he’d have liked.

“Why did you get us this room, instead of just inviting me back to the suite?”

Dean turns his head and gives a half shrug. “I thought we could use some privacy.”

“You mean you don’t want people to see us together.” He hates the way he sounds, insecure, almost needy with a side of petulant.

Dean frowns. “People have already seen us together.”

“Yes,” Castiel agrees. “Once or twice you can sweep under the rug, your friends will keep quiet. But if you keep disappearing with me, a _man_ , people might start to talk.”

Dean sighs, sits up on the bed and rubs a hand over his face. “Cas, can we just… not? We have fun together, right? So let’s just have fun. Okay?”

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel says, because what else can he say?

“Good.” Dean breathes out on a sigh. He smirks then, rolls over to crawl between Castiel’s legs and pushes them apart. And then he lowers himself so that his face is hovering just over Castiel’s flaccid cock and Castiel lets out a soft squeak as Dean breathes a hot puff of breath over it and it starts to harden.

“ _Dean_.”

“Now, I haven’t given a blow job since _Hanson_ was popular, so you might have to forgive some sloppy technique.”

Castiel opens his mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a desperate whine as Dean’s mouth closes down around him and he forgets all about whatever the hell his problem had been a moment ago.

Dean’s right; his technique is lacking. His enthusiasm more than makes up for it though and after about fifteen minutes of sloppy sucking, choking coughs and the occasional well-coordinated swallow-fist combination Castiel is coming.

“Dean,” he warns, breathless as he pats him on the shoulder. “Dean, I’m…”

Dean pulls off him and jacks him through his orgasm, uses his fingers to spread the come out over Castiel’s lower belly, traces patterns in it, mesmerised.

“Damn,” Dean says. “That’s so hot. You know, I’m kind of wondering why I gave this up. Men, I mean.”

Castiel has an idea or two about Dean’s delicate sense of self and his desire to live up to public opinion, but he keeps them to himself.

“Well, now you have me,” he says instead, and he can’t help the answering smile and the happy, puffed up feeling in his chest when Dean smiles up at him.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees. “I guess I do. In that case, I’m glad I waited.”

“I’m afraid of spiders,” Castiel says suddenly, because it’s all a little too much.

Dean just laughs and adjusts his legs so that he’s straddling Castiel and knee-walks up his body so that he’s resting his ass on Castiel’s stomach. “I’m afraid of flying,” Dean confesses. “Which sucks, because I have to do it all the damn time.”

“That must be tough.” Castiel really thinks it must be, he’s not just being conciliatory, but Dean probably doesn’t catch that. Not many people do.

“It’s not so bad,” Dean tells him, smiling softly as he lifts himself a little so that his balls aren’t being squashed under his body weight. “Sam usually gets me drunk and Adam sings Metallica with me. It helps.”

“And Christian?” Castiel can’t help but ask. He’s never been sure, even just from their public image, how Christian fits in.

“Usually recites plane crash statistics while we’re taking off. Christian is a douche.”

“Then why is he in your band?”

“He’s family,” Dean says with a shrug, like that means everything. Castiel finds he can relate to that better than he imagines most people could. “Now let’s shut up with the talk about brothers and cousins, yeah?”

Castiel doesn’t point out that it was Dean who brought them up in the first place, just blinks down as Dean takes himself in hand and quickly jerks off, head thrown back and hand working furiously until he’s coming all over Castiel’s chest. Castiel sort of never wants to shower ever again.

Dean takes a minute or so to come back to himself, but as soon as he does he’s up and off the bed, back a few seconds later with warm cloths and towels. They clean up and toss the laundry on the floor before they curl around each other and Dean finally turns off the television.

“I’m not really into deserts,” Dean says with a vague wave toward the black screen. Castiel is impressed with his attention to detail, because he hadn’t even been aware that the show on volcanoes had ended.

“I’m sure they have their good points.”

Dean smiles. “I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of this, you know?”

Castiel does know. But he only smiles back and lets his fingers trail down over Dean’s forehead, over his eyes so that his lids close and finally they trace the outline of his mouth.

“Goodnight, Dean,” he says, and he has to wait almost a full minute for an answer.

“Sweet dreams, Cas.”

***

The next morning they shower separately and by half past eight they’re headed down to the lobby. Dean has to catch a flight with the rest of the band and Castiel has an action-packed day of sight-seeing planned.

Dean holds his hand in the elevator on the way down, but as soon as the door starts to open he drops it and takes a step away. Castiel holds back a sigh. He’d expected as much.

“I’m gonna head over to the desk to get you set up with a cab,” Dean tells him when they step out. “You sure you don’t want a guided tour or something? It’s on me.”

Castiel smiles softly at him and touches his fingers just slightly to Dean’s elbow. “I’m sure. Thank you.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll be back in a sec,” Dean says, and Castiel takes that to mean ‘now that we’re in semi-public, please keep your distance’ so he does.

The hotel lobby seems relatively empty. Just a few people wandering past on their way to the gym or the pool. He sees Sam and Adam and Christian standing around in a group, Chuck and small blonde girl standing together right by the sliding doors that open to the front loop.

Adam smiles at him and Sam waves him over. Christian practically snarls but Castiel goes over anyway. It would be rude not to. He figures he should at least say ‘hi’ to Adam.

“Well,” Christian sneers when he joins their small circle. “If it isn’t the blushing Mrs. Winchester.”

“Christian, don’t be a dick,” Sam says, shooting him a warning glare.

Christian ignores him completely.

“Seriously though,” he says to Castiel. “I mean, you fuck him a couple of times and he’s practically picking out China patterns. The guy’s down to only one or two girls a week and hell, for Dean that’s damn near monogamous.”

“Christian,” Sam warns again, but Christian ploughs on.

“I know there are hundreds of girls all over the country that would love to know your secret. What, you got a mouth like a Hoover or something?”

Castiel stiffens then, and he’s on the verge of answering ‘yes, actually’ because essentially that’s exactly it. Dean was impressed with his skilful mouth, deemed his oral sex worthy of pornography as a matter of fact, and Castiel has no doubt that that’s why Dean had wanted to see him again.

Be that as it may, he’s thinking he's either about to answer or about to punch Christian in the mouth. He’s not normally a violent person, but Christian seems to be bringing out the urge.

Before he can do either Dean shows up next to him, done at the front desk, and answers for him.

“Yeah,” Dean answers, and even though Castiel knows the truth he has to fight back the hurt he feels at having Dean say it out loud. All Dean thinks he’s good for is sucking dick. “But mostly it’s because he’s got a huge cock.”

Which isn’t true. Castiel has nothing to be ashamed of, he knows that, but he also knows that he isn’t _huge_ by anyone’s standards. He pulls his face tight with confusion and then… Oh. That was Dean’s way of telling Christian to fuck off.

It’s… sweet, if a little crude.

“Really?” Christian asks. “I’d have thought with you being such a delicate flower and all, you’d have preferred ‘em smaller. Don’t want to be walkin’ funny for the show tonight, like Sam here.”

He pats Sam on the back a little too hard and Sam smacks his hand away.

“Asshole,” Sam mutters and Castiel gets the impression that Dean and Sam deal with this type of thing a lot. It’s a true wonder that neither of them has killed him yet, family or not.

“I think maybe you’re a little too interested in what does or doesn’t get shoved up my ass, Christian,” Dean bites out. “Jealous?”

Christian scowls and heads towards the door, where Castiel can see the limo now waiting to pick them up.

“Sorry,” Dean mumbles, watching after his cousin. “He’s… No, I can’t actually make any excuses.”

Castiel shakes his head. “It’s not a problem.” It isn’t. Castiel is used to ridicule. He’s used to the families of his boyfriends not accepting him. He’s past the point where the opinions of people like Christian matter to him.

Dean takes his hand casually then, looks around to make sure nobody is paying attention and kisses Castiel quickly. Sharp press of lips to lips before Dean’s gone again and Castiel has to wonder whether or not it actually happened.

“I’ll call you, okay?” Dean whispers, squeezes his hand and lets go. And yeah, it happened. Castiel has to bite down a grin.

When Sam coos at them, grins and says “Awww,” teasingly, Dean goes bright red and punches him in the arm, hard.

“Fuck off,” he grumbles and brushes past his brothers, giving his cousin a hard glare when he gets outside, where everyone piles into the waiting limo.

***

Castiel gets several messages from Dean over the following weeks.

***

_I’m in Chicago. Honestly, I’ve had better deep dish in Boston._

***

_Sam is a jerk. Don’t ever listen to anything he tells you. I mean it._

***

_I’m starting to think Christian actually does want to fuck me._

***

_I miss you._

***

Following the fourth text message in three weeks, Castiel gets another set of tickets in the mail. He doesn’t even think about not using them.

***

_I miss you, too._

***

Twice more in three months Dean flies Castiel out to a show, gets them a private room and leaves him in the morning, alone in a strange city. It’s nice, actually. Castiel likes the privacy the separate rooms afford them, likes the sense of adventure and freedom when he explores some new city or other on his own. He’s never been much of a traveller, before.

A part of him might be starting to feel like he’s a dirty little secret, but a part of him can understand. He just doesn’t know which part is winning.


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel meets a man in line for his morning coffee in a little shop a few blocks down from his apartment.

He’s attractive, with a warm smile and kind eyes and he tells Castiel he’s an investment banker with one dog and a slight reality TV habit and that his name is David. Castiel agrees to a date with him on the weekend and when Saturday rolls around Castiel ends up having a surprisingly great time.

David takes him out for dinner, a little middle-eastern place they can both walk to from their homes that Castiel has been wanting to try but has somehow never gotten around to. Afterwards Castiel takes David for a walk along one of the bike trails nearby while they eat ice cream, even though it’s way too cold. David goes for the chocolate, Castiel sticks with his maple pecan.

Castiel has never owned a bike, he just likes to walk the trails, but he keeps that information to himself.

David kisses him at the end of the date, when they get back to the head of trails at the edge of the park and Castiel doesn’t even consider going home with him. When he gets into bed that night, he feels content.

***

Castiel gets a text message from Dean while he’s at Gabriel’s house for supper and he has to threaten his brother with bodily harm to keep him from calling Dean back and making kissy noises into the phone.

_There once was a man from Nantucket…_

Castiel takes a sip of his wine and smiles while Gabriel rolls his eyes and turns on ‘Deal Or No Deal’. He likes to watch the scantily clad girls. Dean probably does to, but Castiel manages not to ask him. That would probably seem crazy.

_Oh? Is there something special about this man?_

The reply doesn’t come until the second commercial break, and the sharp trill of his phone startles Castiel.

_If I said ‘nothing as special as you’ would you think it was a cheesy line?_

“Holy shit,” Gabriel grumbles while Castiel’s thumb moves up and down over the side of his phone. “Will you two either stop sexting or get a fucking room? My couch has enough stains on it.”

Castiel eyes the upholstery next to him suspiciously, but doesn’t think too closely about what sort of stains Gabriel might be referring to.

 _I have to go_ , he writes back. _Gabriel is being his usual charming self._

He shuts his phone off and slips it into his pocket, leans forward to pour himself another glass of wine.

“Hey, Cas,” Gabriel says, letting his legs fall open so that his knee brushes against Castiel’s. “Everything okay with loverboy? He’s not… you know. Being too much of a dick to you?”

“He’s not pretending to offer something he doesn’t intend to deliver. I’m fine, Gabriel. Honestly.”

“Good. Because I’d fight him for you if I had to, but I’m pretty sure he could kick my ass. So just… be careful, okay.”

Castiel smiles at him. “You’re a good brother.”

“You can pay me back my washing my Jag,” he teases. “It got covered in bird shit when I went to the lake this afternoon.”

Gabriel can’t afford a Jag – he makes even less money than Castiel does. He won it in a charity lottery a couple of years ago. They wash it together the next afternoon and then Gabriel makes Castiel buy him a cheeseburger.

***

He goes to the movies with David a week and half later. He’s never heard of the movie before, something heavy on action, light on plot, but it’s entertaining enough. Castiel kisses David this time, after they’ve sat for a cup of coffee at the shop inside the lobby of the movie theatre. 

He pushes him up against the wall by the doors, holds one hand on David’s hip and slides the other under the hem of his t-shirt, skirts it across his stomach while he pushes his tongue inside David’s mouth.

It should send shivers down his spine, make his stomach flutter with excitement but all he feels is a mildly pleasant hum. He pushes in closer, trying to feel more.

David lets him but they break apart a few seconds later when a group of teenagers walks past, whistling and snickering.

Castiel blushes and David grins at him before they head to their separate cars.

***

It’s late on Friday night. He’s at home by himself reading a years old crime thriller that he missed when it first came out when his phone chirps, alerting him that he has a picture message. From Dean.

Well, it’s from Dean’s phone anyway, but he’s pretty sure Dean’s not the one that sent it, as Dean is in the picture. He’s doing a body shot of what is likely tequila off Tessa while she looks down at him, lips curled up happily and eyes sparkling. His hand is holding an empty shot glass over her bare stomach where she lies stretched out across the bar and his mouth is pulling a lime wedge out from between her pushed up breasts.

He looks like he’s having fun.

***

Two days later his third date with David is interrupted by another picture message. This time Dean is sleeping, stomach flat on a bed and wearing only his underwear. One leg is bent up and his head is turned to the side, mouth open while he drools onto the pillow. His hair is mussed and his fingers are curled in a loose fist, knuckles resting against his nose.

Dean is perfect. Castiel falls just a little bit harder, if that’s even possible.

Across his back in sloppy black ink is written ‘ _Dean wuvs Cas_ ’. Sam’s head is just barely in the frame and he’s smiling brightly, giving the camera the thumbs up.

Castiel excuses himself early that night, claiming a headache he doesn’t have.

When he gets home he watches his _12 Gauge_ DVD three times and dreams of Dean.

When he wakes up, his sheets are soaked through with come and he’s very glad that Gabriel isn’t around with his camera.

***

At work the next morning he gets a text message from Dean and he mutes his end of a conference call that he wasn’t paying much attention to anyway.

_Just checked my outgoing messages. I hate Christian. And Sam. I don’t know who I hate more. Sorry about that, man._

Castiel waits until much later on, after he’s had supper and he’s watching the evening news, before he answers.

_Sam isn’t so bad._

***

When a plane ticket shows up in the mail about a week later with a sloppy handwritten note from Dean that just says _I hope you can make it_ , Castiel pauses a moment to wonder why there’s no concert ticket, and the ticket for his flight has a ten am departure time. Then he gets back to cleaning Spot 2’s tank and makes plans to show up at the airport at nine o’clock Saturday morning so he’s sure not to miss his flight to Tucson.

***

When he gets to the hotel it’s just past noon. He checks in and receives a key card, heads up to the fourth floor and stops in front of room 412. He knocks despite being able to let himself in, figures if Dean doesn’t answer he’ll use his key, but he doesn’t want to interrupt if Dean is in the middle of something.

Stupid, he knows. Dean wouldn’t have given him a key if he didn’t expect him to use it.

The door opens half a minute later to a confused looking Dean. The expression on his face changes almost immediately, turns to a wide, bright smile as he pulls the door open further and motions Castiel inside.

“You came,” Dean says, still smiling but with a slight note of surprise, like he actually thought Castiel might not have.

“You called,” is Castiel’s answer.

“Yeah, I just… We don’t have a show today, so I wasn’t sure if…” Dean trails off as he rubs a hand along the back of his neck, takes Castiel’s trench coat with his free hand and hangs it up on the hook by the door.

It’s almost cute how Dean is under the impression that Castiel thinks his music is worth a plane ride and a day off work. It’s almost depressing that Dean just doesn’t quite get how very much Castiel thinks _Dean_ is worth it.

Then again, Castiel hasn’t exactly been forthcoming with that information.

Once Dean hangs up his coat he reaches an arm out and pulls Castiel in, kisses him on the mouth while their bodies press together. Castiel can tell he’d meant for it to be brief, just a small hello, but of course it doesn’t turn out that way. It’s not until they’re both breathless, lips swollen and wet and their dicks growing hard in their pants that Dean finally pulls back, wiping at the corner of his mouth with his thumb. He’s blushing, which is just entirely unfair.

“Hi,” Dean says, almost shyly. When he turns around and starts to lead the way further into the room Castiel strips off his shirt and starts to open his pants. Six times so far they’ve been together and Castiel is pretty much conditioned at this point to start taking his clothes off the second the door closes behind him.

After a few steps Dean turns around to see why Castiel is no longer right behind him and his eyes go almost comically wide.

“Whoa!” he says, crossing the hall to stand in front of Castiel. “Whoa whoa whoa.” 

He bends down to pick up Castiel’s discarded shirt, hands it to him with a wry twist of his lips and backs up into the room, Castiel matching his pace. “Not that I don’t appreciate the view, Cas, but do you think we could… I don’t know, just hang out a while first?”

Dean wants to _hang out_? Castiel looks at him, incredulous, but decides to keep his mouth shut.

“We’ve got the day off and I’m fucking beat, so I just figured…” he trails off and waves his hand around the room before picking up two gaming controllers from the coffee table. “Xbox?”

***

Castiel does not play video games. Much. Gabriel loves them, even Anna indulges from time to time, mostly when they’re all drunk and hanging out at Gabriel’s house, but Castiel has never quite seen the appeal.

He makes an exception for Dean. He makes a lot of exceptions for Dean.

And it’s not really so bad. 

They play some sort of football game for a while, then switch over to a game where they’re supposed to be spies, or terrorists or something, and hunt and kill each other. Dean wins them both by no small margin. They’re part way into their third game, some variation on _Tetris_ , which Castiel is actually quite good at, beating Dean’s score by double at least, when there’s an angry sounding knock on the door.

Dean frowns and gets up to answer it but when he opens the door he starts laughing. Castiel can hear some hushed, hurried words from the hallway and a few seconds later Dean is back, holding up a laughably large bouquet of flowers, complete with balloons, chocolates and a teddy bear. The bear’s shirt is a soft purple colour with the words ‘Be Mine’ written across it in white lettering.

“If those are from one of your many admirers, I feel like I might need to step up my game a little,” Castiel says with an amused smile. It’s not even that hard. The flowers are fairly hilarious, even if they spark a slow-burning insecurity inside him.

Castiel is not the only person Dean is intimate with. And those other people are no doubt doing more than he is to garner Dean’s affections. Castiel wants it that way, honestly. He doesn’t want to give Dean too much of himself, doesn’t want to give Dean the chance to hurt him. Castiel’s not willing to go through that again.

And he doesn’t want Dean to get the wrong idea and stop seeing him altogether. But he can’t prevent the unwanted thoughts telling him that Dean will get over his philandering ways and settle down with someone. Someone who isn’t him, because they bought Dean chocolates and stuffed animals and were brave enough to admit they actually _wanted_ him.

It’s ridiculous, but that doesn’t stop the niggling uncertainty.

“No,” Dean says, oblivious to Castiel’s internal struggle, shaking his head and still laughing as he puts the flowers down on the desk. “No man.” He takes one of the balloons and turns it around, showing it to Castiel. ‘ _Die, asshole_ ’ is written across it in black marker and Castiel frowns.

“Sammy’s got a big fat crush on one of our roadies,” Dean explains. “Nick won’t give him the time of day though, so Sam pretty much gave up a few months ago. Thing is, I know Nick likes him, he just doesn’t want to be _that guy_ , you know? Doesn’t want to fall for the lead singer and get left on his ass when the tour’s over. As if Sam would actually do that.”

Castiel can understand where Nick is coming from. Perhaps the two of them could start a support group.

“Anyway, they like each other, it’s so obvious to anyone who sees them together, but they’re being idiots. Plus,” Dean shrugs and smirks, “Sam’s an asshole who takes drunk pictures of me and sends them to people, so I sent something froofy and Sam-like to Nick. Flowers seemed good. Signed Sam’s name on the card.”

“So what are you doing with them?”

“No idea, but Sam didn’t look happy when he practically threw them at me out there,” Dean smiles and sits back down on the couch next to Castiel. He looks entirely too happy about his brother’s misery. He’d probably get along well with Gabriel given enough time, and Castiel can’t decide if he hopes they ever get the chance to find out or not.

“Well,” Castiel says, picking up his controller and un-pausing the game before Dean is ready. He hides a smile at Dean’s outraged cry as he races to grab his own controller before his game is over. “I’d say Sam had it coming.”

***

Dean crosses the room from the closet to the bed, smiling broadly as he waggles a bottle of lubricant in his hand and tosses a single condom onto Castiel’s chest.

Castiel fingers the edges of the foil packet, gathers it between the tips of his first two fingers and takes a deep breath, spreads himself out on the bed, showing his naked body off for Dean. It feels… weird. Good, but weird.

He’s not ashamed of how he looks. He’s not vain enough for that. But he’s never really thought to display himself for someone before. Dean makes him want to. Makes him want to show off how beautiful he is, how hard and desperate and ready he is. All of it, for Dean.

He spreads his legs a little, makes himself available as Dean approaches, and Dean kneels down on the bed beside him. He runs his hand up the inside of Castiel’s thigh, making him tremble with want, and flips the cap on the lubricant.

Dean’s eyes go dark and he passes the bottle over, placing it solidly in Castiel’s hand.

“Get yourself ready,” Dean growls, eyes firmly fixed to Castiel’s weeping hardness, where it curves up towards his belly. “Fuck, Cas, get yourself ready. Want to fuck you, baby. Need to.”

Castiel doesn’t think. He doesn’t pause for even a second, just clamps his hand down over the one Dean has on his leg, freezes it in place and uses the strength most people don’t know he has to twist them. Dean lands on his back in a split second, wheezing out a couple of breaths and blinking up at Castiel while he calmly straddles Dean’s waist.

“Jesus,” Dean breathes out, and Castiel pours some of the lubricant out onto his fingers, pushes them over his balls and back, slides two inside his hole like they’re nothing. They feel _amazing_. Almost as amazing as Dean watching him. “ _God_! Cas…”

Castiel lets his eyes slide shut. He can’t look at Dean while he does this, can’t see the way he’s making Dean fall apart, can’t let Dean see the way _he’s_ falling apart. It might be futile, but he can’t let himself think this means something it doesn’t. 

“Mmmm,” he murmurs, as his fingers slide deeper and his knuckles brush along Dean’s hard shaft. “ _Yes_.”

And then he’s pushing the condom into Dean’s hand, only daring to open his eyes when he hears the tear and feels Dean freeze, knows he’s working the thin sheet of latex down over his erection.

“Dean,” he says, and Dean stops, one hand still at the base of his cock where he’s just secured the condom, the other gripping Castiel’s thigh as if he’s holding on for dear life. He’s not even sure what he’d just wanted to say, but he opens his mouth anyway and waits for words to come out.

“I cheated on my SATs,” he hears himself saying and he wishes he could somehow knock himself unconscious, because seriously? “It was stupid. Not because I cheated, which, yes, is stupid, I’ll admit. But it was especially stupid because I ended up getting a lower score because of it. I copied answers that I knew where wrong, because the girl next to me had a higher GPA.”

“Dude,” Dean says and blinks up at him. “Get the fuck on my cock. _Please_.”

Castiel grins down at him, takes a moment to admire the beauty that is _Dean Winchester_ laid out underneath him, waiting, wanting, begging. Castiel Milton is the luckiest man on the planet. No matter what else happens between them, this moment, a dozen others like it, they more than make up for it.

“Anything,” Castiel says, and as he lifts himself up and angles Dean’s dick with his hand, sinks down onto it and feels himself open up, slow and wide, he means it. He’ll do _anything_ for Dean. He thinks maybe he’s lucky that all Dean’s asking for is an occasional lay and some polite conversation.

“Holy fuck, Cas, _yes_ ,” Dean says. His eyes slide shut as his hands grip the very top of Castiel’s thighs where they join his hips, thumbs digging into the groove and almost tickling. Castiel starts to rock up and down and Dean’s face twists in pleasure. “God _damn_ , you know how to move.”

Castiel responds by moving faster, bracing his hands on Dean’s chest and fucking himself hard on Dean’s cock.

“Oh my… Fuck yes,” Dean gasps. “Please. More. Harder.”

Castiel is helpless but to do as Dean asks and before long he’s slamming himself down, wincing at the sharp pain the movements send through him. Dean groans on every downward thrust though, and that sound alone is almost enough to pull Castiel to the brink, so he doesn’t stop.

Doesn’t even think about stopping, just bounces up and down, harder, faster, cries out in pained relief when Dean bucks up to meet his thrusts and finally moves one of his hands from Castiel’s hip to grip his cock, jerks it up and down a few times.

Dean barely has the chance to mumble, “Come on, Cas. Come for me. Fuck, give it up, baby,” before Castiel is screaming, crying out and throwing his head back, spurting out all over Dean’s fingers. Slick streams of come slide between them and over them, landing on Dean’s stomach. The wetness slips and slides, makes a home in between the ridges of stomach muscle, the groove of his belly button as Dean clenches and bucks, tenses and waits for his own orgasm.

Dean’s hand tightens on his hip, he jerks up almost hard enough to throw Castiel off but his eyes are wide open now, staring up at Castiel and… waiting.

“When I was seven and both my parents worked,” Castiel starts, and immediately he feels the tension flow out of Dean, feels Dean’s cock pulse harder inside him. “Gabriel packed my lunches. It was all sodas and candy bars and lollipops. Anna says I’m lucky my teeth didn’t fall out, but I’ve never had even one cavity.”

Dean bucks and freezes below him, comes with a silent cry. Castiel rides it out with him and when he’s finished, when the sharp jerks of his hips stutter and stop, Castiel lets them, rises and falls, keeps himself still on top of Dean and watches.

He’s… beautiful. Castiel can’t deny it anymore, not to himself. He’s in love. It’s an unfortunate turn of events, to say the least.

Castiel waits for Dean to come back to himself, waits for his breathing to return to normal, waits for his hands to run up and down smoothly along Castiel’s thighs.

Dean’s lips twitch and curl, his eyes crinkle at the edges and he actually laughs when he looks up at Castiel. Like he’s happy. Like this is exactly where he wants to be. Castiel is careful not to let it go to his head.

He doesn’t know what it is about Dean just watching him like this, just touching him slow and lazy, like they have all the time in the world, breathless and sated. But once again Castiel speaks before he thinks, only this time it’s much, much worse than it usually is.

He doesn’t tell Dean about pets or hockey accidents or summer flings. What he says is so much more damning.

“My last serious relationship ended six months before I met you. After two years he broke it off because he was too afraid to come out to his family. He went back to his ex-girlfriend. They’re getting married.” Two years Castiel had waited, had kept quiet and smiled about it even though it killed him inside, because Kevin had _promised_ him that one day they’d tell people, that they would be able to kiss each other on the front porch, hold hands in the park. Move in together. Have a real life.

At least Dean isn’t promising anything. It makes him think he might be able to come out of things a little better, this time. Going in with rock bottom expectations means he can’t be _too_ disappointed, at least.

“I...” Dean says, and instead of tossing Castiel off him and running for his life, he surprises Castiel. He does a lot of that. “My uh… my girlfriend. Lisa. We were together a year before the band made it big, went out on the road for our first big tour. She broke up with me half way through. I guess the distance got to us. I haven’t really dated anyone since then. Just… you know. Hook-ups, mostly.”

 _Ah_. Castiel thinks. _Of course_. This is Dean letting him down easy. He knows Dean’s lifestyle isn’t exactly geared toward having a significant other. It’s not as if he needs the speech, though. He isn’t asking Dean for anything.

Castiel finally convinces his legs to move, to lift him up and Dean’s cock eases out of him slowly before he sits down on the side of the bed with his feet resting on the floor. His as ass is tender, but it feels good. Feels right, because it was Dean that made it that way. It was them together, their bodies and their passion and their shared secrets and the dull ache inside him is absolutely _perfect_.

“Hey,” Dean says, and even though he’s not looking at Dean’s face he knows he’s frowning. He’s seen that face before, knows what he sounds like with his brows drawn in concern and the soft hand on his bare back is further proof. “You okay?”

Castiel clears his throat and sits up straighter. Dean’s hand stays where it is. He wants to be annoyed but he can’t help but be comforted.

“Yes,” he answers, finally turning to offer Dean a smile. “I think I’ll have a shower, if that’s alright.”

“Dude, you’re not the one covered in spunk,” Dean says, laughing.

Castiel looks down at Dean’s crotch, where his cock is softening in the condom, his own semen sliding down the shaft and leaking from the bottom. He looks up then to Dean’s stomach where the mess Castiel made is cooling and drying, sticky and clear. His smile is real now. Castiel would dare _anybody_ to look at this picture of Dean and not smile.

“It’s a good look on you.”

***

Dean’s in the shower when there’s another knock on the door. Dean had called for room service while Castiel was cleaning up and Dean shouts out from the bathroom for Castiel to answer. 

“Hey Cas, can you get that?” he asks as he shuts off the running water and steps out of the shower. “My wallet’s on the table by the bed.”

“Of course,” Castiel answers and grabs Dean’s wallet as he walks to the door. He opens it while he turns the knob and leafs out a few bills, enough to pay for the pizza, the six pack and give the young woman carrying them both a generous tip.

She smiles her thanks at him and places the cardboard box and the collection of bottles on the desk before she leaves. Castiel smiles back and just as he’s about to fold up Dean’s wallet, put it back on the nightstand where he got it from, he notices the shiny, folded edge of a photograph sticking out from between the pockets of leather.

He knows he shouldn’t, he knows it’s wrong, an invasion of privacy, but curiosity gets the better of him and he thumbs the edge of the photo, sliding it out. It’s folded in half and it starts to spring open as soon as it’s free, but Castiel ignores the half that had been folded back for now. Because on the side that’s facing him is a picture of _him_.

He looks nervous and slightly miserable and he can’t think where Dean would have gotten it from, can’t remember when or where the picture was taken until he folds up the other half of the picture with a finger and sees Tessa sitting next to him.

It was taken that first night, back in Wichita. Just after he’d told Tessa that he was gay by the looks of it. She’s smiling at him, easy and free, and he’s just staring back. Her hand is on his knee. 

He hadn’t even realised that anyone had snapped his picture that night, hadn’t seen a flash go off, hadn’t even seen anyone with a camera, not that he’d thought to look. But the picture clearly exists and Dean must have gotten his hands on it somehow. And kept it. In his wallet.

Castiel quickly looks through the rest of the wallet – credit cards, cash, drivers licence, a few scraps of paper with phone numbers on them, a condom – but the one of him and Tessa is the only picture in there.

Tessa, who’s also sleeping with Dean, but then again, so are a lot of other people. He’s not sure how that makes him feel.

“I know I told you to grab some money out of there,” Dean’s voice says from behind him. He starts guiltily and he pushes the picture back into its slot, closes the wallet and puts it down on the table. “But some of that shit’s kind of personal, you know?”

“I wasn’t…”

“Forget it,” Dean tells him, clipped and dismissive, darts a glance at his wallet on the table and then ignores it in favour of scooping up the pizza box. “Let’s eat.”

Castiel follows Dean to the couch and sits down next to him, grabs a slice from the box that Dean’s put down on the table in front of them. They eat in silence for almost a minute before Dean picks up the remote and with a few quick button presses they’re watching an old episode of Star Trek.

He wouldn’t have figured it for Dean’s kind of show, but he likes learning new things about Dean. And he likes Star Trek, so it works out.

Dean gets up a few minutes later and goes over to the desk by the door, brings back two beers and cracks them open, hands one to Castiel.

He takes it, but sets it down on the table before he drinks any. Dean downs about half of his in one gulp.

“You looked good,” Dean says out of nowhere, and the rough uncertainness of his voice makes Castiel blink.

“I… what?”

“In the picture.” Dean looks over at him then, holds his eyes. “I know you were looking at it. I kept it because you looked good. The look on your face, like you’d rather be just about anywhere else, but _fuck_ you looked beautiful. Not that you don’t all the time.” Dean adds, a playful volley that Castiel doesn’t return. “But there was just something about that one moment… Anyway. You looked good.”

“And Tessa?” he asks, snarlng slightly even though it makes him feel stupid. He has no right to be pissed off, not even a little. It doesn’t stop him from tasting the slight bitter tang her name leaves on his tongue.

Dean just smirks at him, lips turned up at one side and eyes darkened and narrowed slightly. “Tessa always looks good.”

“Then why aren’t you with her tonight?” Castiel almost can’t believe what he’s saying. He shouldn’t care what Dean does when the two of them aren’t together. They’ve made no promises, Castiel knows exactly what their situation is. Hell, Castiel is dating someone, himself. It shouldn’t bother him. It does, though.

“You know,” Dean says then, almost conversationally, pushing back into the cushions of the couch. “I never really pegged you for stupid, Cas.”

“What,” Castiel asks, voice low, “exactly, is that supposed to mean?”

Dean grinds his teeth and looks in the other direction, cracks his neck before he looks back at Castiel. “It means I don’t want to talk about it. Look,” he says, sighing and running a hand through his air-dried hair. It’s gorgeous like that, Castiel thinks, straight from the shower without any product. “This… it is what it is. I’m doin’ the best I know how here, man, but if that’s not good enough then… I don’t even fucking know. I like you. I’m happy with what we have. But if you don’t want this anymore, I promise I’ll leave you alone. You’ve got to return the favour though, because as long as you keep showing up, I’m not really gonna be able to control myself.”

“Of course I still want this, Dean,” Castiel tells him quietly, turning back to the television as Dean does the same. And then, even quieter, “That’s the whole problem.”

***

They fuck once more before Castiel leaves in the morning, Castiel’s feet hooked over the backs of Dean’s knees while Dean rocks into him so slowly and gently Castiel thinks he might go crazy.

They last over and hour and when they’re done Dean kisses him, long and deep, before he rolls over and falls asleep again. Castiel doesn’t bother to hide his smile as he looks over at him, traces the outline of his cheekbone with the knuckle of his middle finger.

He showers and dresses quietly, careful not to wake Dean when he leaves the room, closing the door softly behind him. When he hears the latch catch with a snick he turns his head and catches sight of Adam coming out of the room next door.

“Hey, man,” Adam says, offering a friendly smile.

“Hello.”

“Sneaking out while he’s sleeping, right?” he asks, still smiling and tilting his head toward the door to Dean’s room. “You know, you might want to be careful. I know he acts tough, but you really could give him a complex.”

Castiel stands up straighter.

“No, I… I didn’t want to wake him. I’m sure he needs his sleep.”

Adam snorts a little at that and he waits until Castiel nods at him and turns to leave before he starts to talk again.

“So listen,” he says, as Castiel steps into the elevator. He doesn’t get in with Castiel, but he stops the doors from closing him out with his hand. “I don’t really know what your deal is with my brother, he hardly talks about it, not even to _Sam_ , but… I just thought you should know. If you’re playing hard to get, it’s working.”

Adam steps back then, and the elevator doors slide shut.

Castiel’s not entirely sure what that means, but he spends the next several weeks thinking very carefully about it.


	5. Chapter 5

_It’s eight o’clock in Boise, Idaho._

Dean, apparently, thinks that fact is amusing, but Castiel doesn’t understand why.

_Have a good show_ , he texts back, instead of _It’s nine o’clock in Kansas_ , and he’s half hard as he wonders if he’ll be able to watch any clips of the show on Youtube later. He’s almost considering asking Dean to call him when he’s alone, but that would probably be a bad idea. He’s never had phone sex before and he suspects he wouldn’t be very good at it.

Besides, Dean will probably be busy.

It’s been three weeks since he’s seen Dean and he misses him more than he’d like.

***

Castiel’s fifth date with David (on which he’d invited David to his apartment to watch a movie and show off his under-utilised cooking skills) ends with David blowing him on his couch while the movie plays, forgotten.

It’s good. Warm and wet and Castiel returns the favour by jerking David off and showing him to the door as soon as they’ve cleaned up.

When he’s alone again, shirtless and comfortable in the worn cotton of his pyjama bottoms, he turns on the radio. _12_ Gauge is playing. Naturally.

Castiel sits back on the couch with a newly filled glass of wine and closes his eyes, wishes that it had been Dean tonight. He knows it’s unfair to everyone involved and wishing won’t change anything but he can’t help it.

He wants Dean. Not just when they both happen to have the time (although he knows that’s an inevitable consequence of dating someone who’s constantly on the road) but he wants him in those between times as well. Wants phone calls, frequent ones. Letters, not just text messages but actual letters, wants to know everything there is to know about Dean. Wants to know that Dean feels it just as much as Castiel does when they’re not together.

Wants to know that Dean wants him. _Only_ him.

But it’s not going to happen.

The problem isn’t that Dean doesn’t like him enough. He knows Dean likes him, a lot, and to say otherwise would be both completely untrue and an insult to both of them. The problem, if Castiel even wants to call it that when really it’s just dumb, stupid circumstance, is that Dean’s lifestyle, his attitude, doesn’t allow for the kind of relationship that Castiel is looking for.

***

When Dean calls him a week later he has to nod apologetically to the woman sitting next to him in the stands and head toward the relative quiet of the parking lot to answer the call. He’s watching a baseball game. David plays on a local league and Castiel had been sitting with the wives and girlfriends and children, watching.

He’s not a very avid baseball fan, but David looks nice in his uniform. Also, Castiel has been trying to develop an interest in David’s interests. He wants to like him. It’s going about as well as you might think.

“Cas!” comes Dean’s booming voice over the speaker.

“Hello Dean,” he answers, smiling at how happy Dean sounds.

“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“No,” Castiel tells him and darts a glance back at the field, where one half of the crowd – he’s not sure which – erupts into applause. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, if you really want to make my day you can send me some naked pictures,” Dean says, and Castiel’s smile widens, “But I mostly just wanted to hear your voice.”

Castiel’s heart breaks a little, because it’s times like this that he thinks they might actually have something. That they might end up together and committed and one of MTV’s ‘Top 50 Cutest Couples’. They never, ever will.

“Well,” he answers, keeps it light. “I can tell you all about my meeting yesterday with the owner of one of the local garages. His jingle is tragic and he thinks we’re charging too much for a twenty second air spot. I must warn you though, the story includes violence, coarse language and slight nudity.”

Dean laughs and the sound creates a comfortable ball of warmth in Castiel’s belly. “You know just how to get my attention. I’m all ears, Cas.”

Castiel can picture him, sitting somewhere, on a couch in a hotel or on a comfortable bus seat. Maybe backstage somewhere, waiting on a sound check. 

They talk for half an hour and by the time he gets back to the field David’s game is over.

He congratulates David on a win he doesn’t see and tells him out of the blue, after David drops him off at home, “I wrestled in high school. Once. I wasn’t very good at it.”

David just gives him a funny look and kisses him quickly before getting into his car and taking off down the road.

Castiel feels more guilty about that one small admission than he does about any of the sexual encounters they’ve shared.

***

_Dude, I just met Eddie Van Halen. Eddie Van fucking Halen! In a bar. Sam’s so drunk he’s trying to hit that. It’s actually pretty funny._

***

_Eddie shot Sam down (no surprise) but Alex accidentally slipped me the tongue. It was fuckin’ sweet._

***

_I’m drunk. And horny._

_And lonely._

_How come you’re so far away?_

***

_Sam just made me watch The English Patient. I’m currently plotting his death._

***

Castiel sends his reply when he’s alone with the radio on at the end of a long day.

_I wouldn’t be too hard on him. Ralph Fiennes is hot._

***

David invites Castiel to his sister’s wedding.

He should say yes. He even _wants_ to say yes. Wants something pleasant and normal with the potential for serious and David seems to be willing. Castiel even mostly likes him by now, can sometimes picture them together, sharing the morning paper and trading kisses while they sip coffee and fight over the business section, David playing Frisbee with his dog in Castiel’s backyard while Castiel grills them steaks and corn on the cob for supper.

He can see it and it makes him feel… okay. Even good, sometimes.

So yeah, he should say yes.

What he does, is panic and tell David he can’t make it because he’s getting root canal that weekend.

Castiel has never had a cavity in his life.

Dean knows that about him.

***

_Adam and I made cookies. From scratch. I’ll send you some. I promise they’re edible._

***

_Sam asked Nick out again and the fucker didn’t even say ‘no’. Just rolled his eyes and walked away. I’m gonna fuck that dude up._

***

Castiel does, in fact, get a box of homemade cookies in the mail from Dean. They’re a little stale, but they’ve been wrapped well and they don’t actually taste too bad.

He shares them with Gabriel, who keeps looking at him with a strange expression.

“Okay, what?” he finally asks, letting out a harsh puff of air.

“Don’t BS me here, Cas,” Gabriel says. “You’re way too far gone to tell me you’re ‘fine’. Just please. If he’s not what you need, promise me you’ll figure it out before two fucking years is up.”

Castiel bristles.

“He’s nothing like Kevin.”

“No, but you’re still you.”

Castiel can’t argue with that, so he eats too many cookies and has to call in sick to work the next day. He doesn’t tell Dean about that though. He might take it wrong.

***

_Twister is the best game EVER._

***

_Pull my finger._

***

_We’ll be in Little Rock on Wednesday. Not too far. Wanna hook up?_

***

It’s a first. Dean asking him instead of just sending tickets. It’s another first when Castiel responds.

***

_Can’t. Busy._

***

It’s a lie, of course. He’s not busy, he’s afraid.

He doesn’t get a reply back from Dean but he doesn’t really expect one.

***

He doesn’t hear from Dean for another two weeks. No phone calls, no texts, no random gifts.

In a way he’s glad. It takes some of the pressure off.

When Dean finally breaks radio silence it’s with a cheerful sounding phone call during which Dean informs Castiel that he’ll be back in Kansas on the weekend.

The band has a short break, a few days off, and they’ve decided to come home to Lawrence.

“You gotta come, man,” Dean wheedles once he’s told Castiel about the get-together they’re having on Saturday for a small group of family and friends. “I haven’t seen you in… fucking forever. I don’t want you forgetting what I look like.”

Dean’s voice is light, but Castiel can’t help but think, with deep sincerity, that there’s no way in hell that could ever happen.

“I don’t know,” he answers, because he doesn’t. He knows he should keep backing off, keep putting space between them, because Castiel doesn’t want to end up broken and hollow when Dean decides he’s had enough. Or when Castiel does.

David has been pressuring him for a commitment he can’t make and he knows that it’s because of Dean.

“Cas… Please,” Dean says, and he doesn’t even need to go on, because Castiel is putty in his hands with just that word. “We’re headed to fucking Canada for three weeks after this, and I just…”

“I’ll be there.”

***

Dean’s home (Sam’s too, he supposes, as Dean’s told him it’s a family home, one the two of them lived in with their parents, before their mother, then their father, had passed on) is a modest two-story in a quiet neighbourhood.

He doesn’t know why he’d expected something bigger, grander, but he’s disappointed in himself for it. He should know Dean better than that.

He parks his car in the driveway like Dean told him to, on the right side and closest to the closed garage door. It’s just past three in the afternoon, the party isn’t in full swing yet, but there are still half a dozen other cars parked up and down the street and there is cheerful music and laughter coming from the backyard.

The lawn is almost obsessively manicured and Castiel somehow just _knows_ that it’s Dean’s doing. He can picture him, out here as the sun beats down, pushing the mower across the yard in perfect lines, celebrating with a cold beer while he sits back on the porch steps and admires his hard work.

Dean greets him with a smile and the clap of a hand on his bicep, makes sure he feels welcome but doesn’t spend so much time with him that people might start to wonder, to ask questions.

He’s introduced to some of Dean’s close friends, some of the people he considers family even though they aren’t (because Sam and Adam and Christian are the only blood relatives he’s got left) and Castiel makes polite conversation, taking his cues from Dean about the nature of their relationship.

It’s not as if he expects Dean to announce to the entire group that the two of them are intimate, but it still stings a little when he stands a socially acceptable distance from Castiel and is careful not to touch him too much. Castiel loves to touch Dean and not being allowed to is almost like torture.

Castiel has a few of Adam’s famous mojitos, has one of Dean’s steaks from the grill (better than his own, he has to admit) and enough potato salad to fill him up.

He talks to a few more people on his own and they all seem to like him well enough, but he can’t help but wonder what they’d think if they knew about him and Dean. Would they be just as welcoming? More so? Or would they look at him funny, whisper behind his back because they know Dean will never settle down, especially not with a man, and Castiel is only passing entertainment?

***

Dean flirts shamelessly with a small blonde girl. Castiel keeps his seat on the corner of the back deck and clutches his sangria like it’s precious. He’s not drunk, but that’s only because he’s got a remarkable tolerance.

“Jo,” Christian leans in and tells him, even though he didn’t ask. “She’s wanted him for years but it’s never going to happen.”

He wonders, for a moment, why Christian isn’t telling him about how Dean and Jo fuck every second Tuesday (even if it isn’t true), but then a lovely, dark-haired woman, with a welcoming smile and perfect posture sits down next to Christian at the picnic table.

“Hi!” She says brightly, leaning over Christian and holding out her hand for Castiel to shake. “I’m Arlene. Christian’s wife.”

He smiles at the woman and squeezes her hand gently. “It’s nice to meet you, Arlene. I’m Castiel. A friend of Dean’s.”

They talk for another twenty minutes before Christian gets bored and drags his wife away. Castiel goes back to watching Dean and Jo. They’re lying next to each other on the grass, pointing every once in a while at the stars in the sky and passing a cigarette back and forth. Or maybe it’s not just a cigarette, Castiel’s not certain.

It’s late now, past eleven, and mostly everyone has gone. He’s almost a little surprised when Dean helps Jo to her feet, kisses her on the cheek and walks her to the patio table where her mother and step-father are sitting. He leaves the three of them to find their car as he makes his way across the yard to Castiel. He’d half expected them to sneak off together.

“Hey,” Dean says, smiling at him and waving to a few of the stragglers as they finish clearing out.

“Hey yourself,” Castiel answers and he wants to grab Dean, pull him in and kiss him stupid. Fuck him stupider.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

***

It’s not even half past eleven, the last of the guests having left not thirty seconds ago, when Dean drags Castiel through the house and up the stairs.

It’s not a minute after that that they’re both naked, Castiel face down on the mattress in what was probably Dean’s childhood bedroom, Dean’s hands clamped down tightly on his hips as he fucks into him from behind.

“Oh my God,” Dean says, panting and thrusting in deep, hard strokes. “Holy shit, Cas. I’ve fucking missed this.”

Castiel doesn’t say anything to that, just groans and bows further, tilts his hips up so Dean sinks in even deeper, hitting his prostate and making him crazy.

Castiel grips his own cock, pumps it briefly before Dean’s hand joins his. They stroke together a few times, a few more and Castiel’s ass is _aching_ from how hard Dean is fucking into him but he doesn’t care. _Loves_ it.

“I’m gonna…” Dean says, his hips stutter and then he pushes in even harder, if it’s possible. “I’m gonna… fuck, _Cas_.”

Castiel comes then, can’t hold back even a second longer. His spend pulses out over Dean’s fingertips and his own, lands on the bed sheets below them and as he starts to come down he cranes his neck, presses his lips to Dean’s jaw.

“I dislike your cousin Christian. He’s a dick and his wife is too good for him.”

“Cas… Jesus.”

“I was prepared to fuck Sam that first night. I wanted you, but I would have settled.”

“Holy fucking…” Dean barely gets the words out before he’s pressing Castiel down flat against the bed, jerking into him again and again on soft cries of pleasure until he’s spent.

“Was it good for you?” Castiel teases, almost smirking when Dean rolls to the side.

“Jesus Christ, Cas… Don’t fucking tell me you want to fuck my Goddamn _brother_ when I’m about to shoot my load, okay?”

Castiel can’t help but laugh – the vibrations of Dean’s own laughter are pulsing through his body, coaxing it out of him. “It didn’t seem to affect your performance.”

“Dude, _you_ try fucking you and see if anything can throw you off track.”

Castiel doesn’t mention that when he fucks himself all he thinks about is _Dean_ and it’s very hard to get sidetracked.

Dean strips off the condom and rolls them over, out of the wet spot. He curls up around Castiel, arm around his waist and nuzzles into the back of his neck.

Castiel is asleep within minutes.

***

He wakes up sometime later. The clock next to the bed reads 2:18am and he’s alone.

A brief flash of panic rips through him before he realises he’s in Dean’s house, so it’s not exactly as if Dean can ditch him here. Besides, he’s snuck out on Dean more than once while he was sleeping, so turnabout would be fair play in this situation.

He blinks and listens, hears noise, voices coming from somewhere in the house, so he gets up and quietly crosses the room. When he opens the door the voices get louder and he can pinpoint their location – the living room downstairs – and he can tell clearly that they’re coming from Dean and Sam.

He’s halfway down the stairs before he hears his name and then he stops. Eavesdropping isn’t something he was raised to do, but somehow he can’t help it. He stays there on the stairs, where he can just see the brothers through a slight haze – incense and marijuana, it smells like. They’re sitting next to each other on the couch, Adam on a second couch opposite them and their attention seems to be split between conversation and the video game they’re playing.

“Seriously dude,” Dean is saying. “It’s like some fucked up form of Tourette’s. We can’t even get through a damn hand job without him telling me about his sister’s first report card or some shit.”

“Hey,” Sam says and twists up his face as something unfortunate happens to his on-screen avatar. “If it’s too weird for you pass him on over. I sure wouldn’t kick him out of bed.”

Dean puts his hand on the side of Sam’s face and pushes until Sam almost falls off the couch. “Don’t even _think_ about it,” he says. Sam just laughs. “It is a little weird. But you wanna know the _really_ fucked up thing?”

“Your face?”

“Ha ha. Dick. No, what’s really fucked up is I actually kinda get off on it.”

Sam snorts and then curses when Dean’s character kicks his in the head. “So, what? You guys are doin’ it and you’re thinkin’ ‘This is great and all, but what would really get me goin’ is some kind of talk about dead fish and vomit?’ You got issues, man.”

Sam’s character lands a solid punch to Dean’s and the animated man falls flat on his face.

“Don’t I know it,” Dean grumbles, mashing at buttons until his avatar is once again standing. “That girl I was with last week?”

“The blonde or the redhead?” Sam asks absently.

“Dean,” Adam says. It’s the first Castiel has heard him speak. “You might want to shut up.”

Sam and Dean both turn their heads then to look at him. They guffaw simultaneously and then turn back to the game. “You might want to blow me,” Dean mumbles and Sam laughs.

Adam rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

“So?” Sam asks again. “Blonde or redhead?”

“I didn’t fuck the redhead,” Dean says and Castiel feels cold. He has no claim on Dean and some of that might even be his own fault for never attempting to lay one. It still hurts to think about Dean being with other people. It’s even worse to _hear_ about, but he still keeps quiet, still listens.

“So the blonde, then.”

“Yeah. Anyway, we’re just gettin’ to the good part when all of a sudden I stop, and I’m looking down at her like ‘Okay, so tell me about how you had a crush on your seventh grade teacher’. I think she thought I was retarded or something.”

“She wasn’t far off the mark,” Sam digs and Dean punches him in the arm hard enough to make him wince.

“Dude, I’m like… tryin’ to share here, and you’re just being an asshole.”

Sam sighs heavily and pauses the game, relaxes into the plush cushions at his back.

“Dean, did you maybe think that you weren’t waiting to hear about _her_ crush on her teacher, but Castiel’s?”

Dean frowns, the muscles pulling tight around his eyes and he looks so damnably adorable that Castiel wants to kiss him. “Dude, I wasn’t _that_ drunk.”

“No, I mean… Maybe the problem wasn’t that she didn’t hit your crazy new kink, you big freak. Maybe it was because she wasn’t Cas. Dean, maybe… maybe you _like_ him.”

Dean’s frown deepens.

“Of course I like him. I wouldn’t keep seeing him if I didn’t. I wouldn’t have invited him to our fucking _house_.”

“Yeah, and you introduced him to Bobby and Ellen as your ‘buddy’. I notice how you left out the ‘butt’ part.”

“Jesus Christ. What did you switch bodies with Christian or something? What’s with the asshole routine?”

“Sorry, I know. Just… Dean, did you ever think that maybe you want more than what you guys have right now? I know, I know,” he says, waving a hand at Dean when Dean opens his mouth to protest. “I know you’re not ready to be on the cover of _Rolling Stone_ announcing your big gay love or anything. But maybe it’s time you should really think about this thing with Cas. That guy… he’s into you, Dean. And not just because you have money and you’re _so very pretty_.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m just saying. If you don’t make a serious move soon, he’s gonna move on.”

“Dude! I’m not… Who said anything about serious? We’re happy with things the way they are. I like him, Sam, but I also like my life, my freedom. And so does _he_. What we have works, man. Besides, what the fuck more does he want? I’ve practically been panting after him like a love-sick puppy for Goddamn months.”

“Which should maybe tell you something. Don’t let the fact that he’s a guy stop you.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re queer as a three dollar bill.”

“Yeah, and you’re not exactly straight, Dean. I know you usually prefer girls, but it’s not as if Cas is your first guy. Just… keep an open mind.”

“Mind your own business,” Dean mumbles.

After a few beats of silence the game starts up again and a handful of seconds after that Castiel continues down the stairs. He makes enough noise to be noticed this time and when he’s close enough Adam tosses a fourth game controller at him.

He’s about to politely decline, but then Dean smiles at him, bright and expectant and Castiel sits down in the free seat next to Adam. He’s still not much for video games but he’ll do anything if it means Dean will smile at him like that.

Within seconds Dean has reset the game for four players and turned up the volume. Castiel mashes a few buttons but it becomes clear very quickly that _Super Smash Brothers Melee_ is not his game.

“So hey,” Dean says, elbowing Sam in the ribs. “I haven’t seen you hook up with anyone all week. What gives?”

Sam blushes. It looks almost as adorable on him as it does on Dean.

“Nick asked me out,” he says. “Well, more like he finally said ‘yes’ to the like, two dozen times _I_ asked _him_ out, but whatever. I figured it would be really shitty of me to fuck someone else before we had a chance to go on even one date.”

“He finally grew a pair, huh?” Dean asks, smiling.

“Yeah, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Me?” Dean asks, high-pitched and faux-innocent. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Adam snickers and says, “Dean threatened to fire him if he didn’t go out with you.”

“You _what_?! Dean, that’s illegal!”

“Oh, sorry,” Dean says, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t realise we were all such law-abiding citizens around here – hey Adam, pass me a spliff - but if it makes you feel better I can take it back. Just offer him some cash to tap your ass a few times. What do you think? A thousand?” He looks Sam up and down and pretends to consider it. “Better make it two.”

“Oh, you son of a…” Sam seethes and as they continue to trash talk, their characters concentrate very carefully on pounding each other into the ground.

Adam leans over after a moment and speaks to him, low so that only he can hear over the clatter of the television. “Dean wasn’t trying to be a jerk. All that stuff he was saying to Sam? He likes you, but he can’t figure you out and he’s been burned before.”

Castiel is momentarily taken aback, unaware that Adam knew he’d been listening. 

He’s saved from having to respond, though, because Sam swears loudly and Dean cheers with glee, sticking his pointed finger into his brother’s chest with some force. “Eat it, bitch!”

“Oh, fuck that. This game sucks anyway. I’m gettin’ out the Atari.”

“I’ll kick your ass at that too, man,” Dean tells him. “I still have high score on _Centipede_.”

“Well get off your lazy ass and help me get it. I think it’s buried under about a dozen boxes in the basement.”

“Awww, you need a big strong man to help with the heavy lifting, Samantha?”

“Fuck you.”

Dean and Adam both snicker but Dean gets up and follows him into the basement.

It’s quiet for several seconds before Adam pushes back on the couch to get more comfortable.

“I don’t know if Dean’s told you anything about Lisa,” he says, and Castiel waits for more, but nothing comes.

“His girlfriend,” Castiel says and Adam nods. “They broke up after you started touring.”

“Yeah. Not every relationship can handle that sort of thing. But uh… when they were together, he never once cheated on her. And it wasn’t his idea to end things. For what it’s worth.”

They hear a loud crash from downstairs and Adam rolls his eyes.

“Why do I never see you with anyone?” Castiel asks. He knows Dean makes friends wherever he goes, and most of the time he sees them Sam has hooked up with someone as well. He hardly sees Christian at all, but Adam is always around, somewhere, and as far as Castiel knows, he doesn’t share his bed.

“I have a girlfriend,” Adam smiles. “Back home in Minnesota. She’s in med school, so she can’t really take time off to come see me. Once this tour’s over though, I’m gonna head back there for a while. I’m really looking forward to it.”

Castiel nods but doesn’t say anything. It’s good, he thinks. Adam is a good guy.

Dean and Sam come back upstairs shortly after that and none of them gets to bed again until the sun comes up.

***

A week later he happens to catch five minutes of one of the seedier entertainment gossip shows just before the eleven o’clock news.

He sees Dean, which is unusual because his band usually go out of their way to avoid the public eye, but it looks like this time Dean and Sam got caught. They’re in what appears to be a limo and Sam is straddling a man’s lap. He’s older, blond and sort of scruffy looking, and slightly smaller than Sam. He almost looks like he’s being crushed. Like it would be unpleasant, even comical, if not for the fact that Sam has a hand down his pants and the man is clearly only a few scant moments from orgasm.

He sincerely hopes that the man is Nick, or Sam is going to have some explaining to do.

Dean is on the other end of the large bench seat, a beer in his hand and his head tilted back, eyes closed and mouth open. There’s a girl on the floor between his legs and there’s a pixelated blur over what is very obviously Dean’s cock sliding in and out of her mouth.

It’s clear that none of them is aware of the camera on them, shaky and unfocussed, as if from a cell phone, and Castiel feels bad for them. He feels bad for himself as well. Seeing Dean with someone else cuts worse than knowing about it, even hearing about it. It’s stark, shocking proof. It shatters any far-off notions and half-dreams he might have been hanging on to.

It’s then that he realises once and for all that he can’t keep doing this.


	6. Chapter 6

_Canada’s not so bad. I like the beer._

And the women, Castiel thinks bitterly, unfairly, as images of Dean in that limousine with that woman play through his mind for the twentieth time.

***

_I wish you were here so hard._

***

_Jager shots are awesome!_

***

Castiel goes out to dinner with David and when he breaks up with him over Spaghetti Bolognese and a bottle of Burgundy, David seems to accept it with a grace that could only come from expectation and resignation. Castiel hadn’t realised he was that transparent.

It makes him wonder why Dean can’t see through him so easily.

***

_Sam sucks. Literally. He’s probably sucking right now. And Adam makes a shitty wing man._

***

When Anna leaves just after ten o’clock, kissing each of her brothers on the cheek and promising to see them soon, Gabriel doesn’t waste any time getting to the point.

“What the hell is up with you?” he asks, as he roots through Castiel’s fridge for the chocolate bar he swears he put there two months ago. “You’ve been even more stoic than usual lately. Also, don’t forget; I’m your brother. I can tell when you’re using your bitchy face, and you’ve been doing a lot of that lately. Even when I don’t deserve it.”

He waits until Gabriel stands up, triumphant, wearing a smile and holding a Twix in his hand before he relents and tells him the truth.

“It’s over. With Dean.”

“That jackass pretty boy dumped you?” Gabriel asks. “Jesus, I _dare_ him to do better!”

“Actually,” Castiel says, and can’t help his sad half-smile, “I’m not going to give him the chance.”

“Say what?”

“It’s not going to work. I’m not happy. I’m letting him go.”

“ _You’re_ dumping _him_?” Gabriel’s eyes are almost comically wide. “I didn’t think you had it in you, but good for you, bro. David’s on the lame side, but he might make you happy if you give him a chance.”

“I also broke up with David.”

Gabriel just stares at him for a moment before he mutely hands over his chocolate.

“Shit, Cas. I didn’t know you were this fucked up over that douche.”

Castiel accepts the candy with a smile but puts it down on the counter. “He’s not a douche. He’s a good man. He’s just not what I need.”

***

_I didn’t think there was such a thing as too much pie. I’m reconsidering. I think I might hurl._

***

_Okay, so listen. If you caught my little show, I’m sorry about that. I broke Christian’s nose, if that makes you feel any better._

_Of course it doesn’t._

***

He doesn’t answer. He almost physically can’t. If he does, he knows his fingers will work all on their own and type out a message of undying love and devotion when what he really needs is just for Dean to leave him alone.

Maybe if he just ignores Dean, he’ll go away. Maybe he’ll wake up and this will all have been a dream.

Maybe he’ll win a million dollars.

***

_Our flight got delayed so we’re stuck at the airport for three fucking hours. Engine trouble. Christ, I don’t think there’s enough booze in this place._

***

Castiel takes up knitting. He makes scarves for Gabriel and Anna. They’re horribly misshapen and they have holes and the colours are all wrong. He throws them out and doesn’t tell anyone about it.

***

_Cas, what gives, man? I haven’t heard from you in weeks. You okay? I really am sorry._

***

 _You have a show in Tulsa next Saturday_ , he answers. _I will meet you after._

***

It’s over, he knows that, but he asks Dean to meet him anyway. The least he owes him is ending things face to face. Dean has been good to him. He’s been attentive (when nobody else is around) and kind always, and Castiel knows Dean truly does care for him. 

He’s crude and immature and has very obvious relationship issues and a sketchy sense of self worth, sure. But perhaps his worst crime is not being able to read Castiel’s mind, to not know how very much certain things about Dean, about _them_ , bother him.

It appears to be up to Castiel to stop things now, before either of them gets any more hurt than they already are.

***

Two days later he finds the usual tickets in his mailbox. He spends the next week and a half attempting to learn needlepoint and when the next Saturday rolls around he doesn’t go to the concert, just heads straight to the hotel room Dean’s reserved for them and waits.

***

Castiel is sitting on the couch, staring out the window onto the colourful splash of brightness that comes from streetlights, stoplights, billboards and windows. His eyes lost their focus an hour ago and now the lights are blurring, the distinct points mixing together into fuzzy, overlapping balls.

It’s pretty.

The door to the room clicks and swings open at just after eleven, which is odd because he wasn’t expecting Dean until past midnight. He’s never been this early before. Castiel jerks a little, stands up quickly and his heart rate picks up as Dean steps through the door. He’s not ready for this yet.

He doesn’t think he’ll _ever_ be ready for this but he has to be. He doesn’t have a choice, not if he wants to stay sane.

Dean takes two quick steps into the room, peering around the slight corner and when he sees Castiel his eyes grow wide for a split second and then he lets out a long breath of what seems like relief. Castiel feels terrible. Dean smiles tentatively and shuts the door behind him, shakes off his coat and tosses it on the bed as he comes closer.

“You’re early,” Castiel says, which is possibly not the best opening line when you intend to break up with someone, but he can certainly think of worse.

“Yeah, I uh…” Dean starts, and his hand fidgets at the back of his neck as he blushes. “You’re here.” He almost sounds surprised.

Castiel offers a strained smile. 

“I asked you to meet me, remember?”

“Yeah, I know. I just… Anyway, I’m fucking glad to see you, Cas.”

Castiel’s smile evaporates completely at that. Face to face might not have been the best way to do this after all. “Dean, we need to…”

But that’s as far as he gets. Dean is suddenly right in front of him, his hands are clamped down hard on Castiel’s upper arms, his lips are pressed tightly to Castiel’s. The kiss is rough, brutal, just a mash of lips and teeth breaking through.

Dean pulls back, sucking in a deep breath and then his teeth clamp down on Castiel’s neck. He bites gently, sucks and licks and Castiel can’t help but let him, can’t help the relaxed, happy feeling he gets whenever Dean does this. Can’t help it because it’s _Dean_ and it feels right, even if he knows it’s wrong.

“Need you,” Dean mumbles between kisses and Castiel’s hands twitch at his sides. He wants to reach out, touch Dean like he’s being touched, run his hands up and down Dean’s body, strip him and press up close, lose himself.

He doesn’t.

“You’re killing me, you know that?” Dean asks. He works Castiel’s pants open, first the button then the zipper, works them down over his hips along with his underwear.

“Dean…” Castiel says, half warning, half plea. He wants this and he doesn’t. Wants the sure, familiar grip of Dean’s hand around his cock when it comes, but doesn’t want to give in again, to his libido, to his heart. Neither of them is to be trusted. They mess with him, don’t think long-term, don’t know what’s best.

Dean seems to ignore Castiel, whatever his intent had been, and suddenly turns them around, hands on Castiel’s hips, and slams him into the wall. A woosh of breath leaves his lungs and he shakes his head trying to clear it but it’s a useless effort. Because Dean sinks to the floor then, all grace and surety and sex, and he takes Castiel’s erection into his mouth. Castiel’s eyes roll back as his body jerks in pleasure.

“Can’t get enough of you,” Dean mumbles as he pulls off to take a breath. “God, Cas, you’re like fucking crack. If I don’t get my fix I get twitchy.”

Dean probably thinks he’s being romantic. It would be sweet if it didn’t make all this so much harder. “Dean, you shouldn’t…”

And again Dean cuts him off, swallows him down once more and Castiel cries out. His head jerks back, thuds against the wall and his hand tangles in the short, sharp strands of Dean’s gelled hair.

Dean’s only done this once for him before and this is even better than that. He seems more comfortable with it, more sure of himself. He takes Castiel in, licks and sucks without any hesitation. His technique isn’t really much better than last time, but Dean’s brazen confidence is intoxicating.

He should stop this. He should push Dean away, tell him to stop. He shouldn’t give in to this perfection because he doesn’t deserve it. He’s leaving Dean, he came here to tell him that, and for Castiel to take advantage of the situation now is… It’s not unlike him, honestly, given all he’s been through with David, but it’s something he wishes he was above.

He wishes. He wishes a lot of things.

But _God_ the feeling, the heat and the slippery slide across Dean’s tongue and then Castiel looks down and there’s just no way he can stop this. Not even a much stronger man than he could resist. Dean Winchester is on his knees, _on his knees_ , in front of Castiel. His eyes are closed and his plump, reddened lips are clamped down tight around his cock and he’s humming softly and he moves back and forth to work Castiel in and out as he slurps around him.

Castiel blinks, just to be sure. And yes, Dean’s still on his knees, sucking him off and it’s one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen in his life.

He comes without any warning and Dean freezes for a split second. His eyes snap open as he tastes the salty tang on his tongue and Castiel thinks he’s going to pull off like last time, but he doesn’t. He sucks harder instead, swallows down every last drop and when Castiel has been sucked dry he goes boneless, slumps against the wall and it’s only Dean’s strong hands on his hips keeping him upright.

Dean gives him a moment, nuzzles at the hollow of Castiel’s hip with his nose until Castiel’s breath evens out and the rapid thudding of his heart against his rib cage slows. He stands then, slowly, and his hands move up Castiel’s sides, taking his shirt up with them. He pauses when Castiel’s chest is exposed, looks into Castiel’s eyes and the hunger Castiel sees there is more than a little humbling.

Dean grunts and his hands move quickly, he backs up enough to yank Castiel’s t-shirt up over his head and then he’s back, kissing him hard, possessing him with his lips and teeth and tongue. Castiel melts into it and when Dean’s hips start to push into his own, gyrating little circles rubbing soft denim over his spent cock, it gives an interested twitch.

It’ll be a little while before he can get hard again, but certain parts of him definitely want to. Besides, Dean remains unsatisfied and it would be in extremely poor taste to stop things _now_ so he can tell Dean he never wants to see him again.

So when Dean jerks away from him and immediately starts to remove his own clothing, Castiel follows suit, lets his pants fall the rest of the way to the floor and steps out of them. He crosses the room obediently when Dean moves to sit on the bed, feet on the floor and legs spread wide.

He stands between Dean’s legs and falls to the floor. He takes a few heartbeats to savour this moment, this one last time he’ll be able to do this and then leans forward, sucking Dean down in one smooth motion.

Dean half-growls, half-grunts and his hands clamp down on Castiel’s shoulders.

“Fuck, Cas,” he groans, and Castiel is pleased at how out of control he sounds. He did this to Dean. He made him need, made him cry out. “This feels so good. So damn good, you have no idea.”

Only Castiel thinks he does have a pretty good idea, if it’s even half as good as Dean makes Castiel feel.

The next few minutes are filled with a soft litany of praise from Dean’s lips as Castiel works, pulls Dean into his mouth as far as he possibly can, swallows around the head when it’s lodged down his throat. Dean screams then, an actual wordless scream, and Castiel knows he’s close, can feel Dean’s balls tighten and pull in close to his body where he’s holding them.

He pulls back, letting Dean’s cock slip from his mouth and bounce up against his belly.

“Dude, what the hell?!” Dean asks, eyes glassy and face flushed, body tense. “I was kinda in the middle of something!”

Castiel offers him a small smile and reaches across the floor for Dean’s discarded pants, reaches into the pocket and pulls out his wallet. Dean opens his mouth to say something but shuts it again quickly when Castiel pulls out the condom he knows Dean keeps there. Dean watches as Castiel opens the package and his breath hitches while Castiel rolls the thin latex down over Dean’s cock.

He stands then, climbs up on the bed, moves past Dean so that he’s lying face down with his knees bent. He looks over his shoulder at Dean, who’s looking back at him wide-eyed, and he cants his hips, positions himself in invitation.

“Fuck me,” he says.

He knows it’s wrong. _Knows_ it, but he can’t help himself. He’s already crossed the line tonight and if he’s only got this one last chance to feel Dean inside him, stretching him open and tearing him apart, destroying him and making him whole, he’s going to take it.

Dean scrambles then, turns around and kneels behind Casiel, puts his hands on his hips. The grip becomes strong and he feels off-balance as Dean tilts him, rolling him over. 

“On your back,” Dean explains, when Castiel looks at him quizzically. “I want you on your back. Want to see you.”

Castiel goes, opens his legs for Dean to settle between and Dean folds in on top of him, covers Castiel’s body with his. He touches him everywhere, kisses all the places his fingers have been and when Castiel is a writhing, moaning mess, his cock aching and hard again between their bodies, Dean starts to push inside.

He places a hand on Castiel’s face, cups his cheek with his palm and holds his gaze as he slides in further, steady and slow. Dean’s lips are on his right after the rounded head fully breaches the tight ring of muscle. He kisses him _breathless_ , but to be fair, the lack of breath might be down to more than just the kiss.

Dean pulls back when he hits bottom and they both gasp. His forehead presses to Castiel’s briefly before he lifts himself up on one arm so his eyes can trail up and down Castiel’s body.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” Dean asks. He eyes lock on Castiel’s and Dean’s thumb glides over his cheekbone. “Fuckin’… Inside and out, Cas. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you before. Way too good for me, I know. I’m sorry. I wish I could…”

Castiel can’t listen to any more. He physically can’t because his heart might beat so fast it would send him into cardiac arrest. 

“Shhh,” he soothes, wrapping his legs around Dean’s waist, pulling him in almost impossibly close. His arms close over Dean’s back, holding him tight to Castiel’s chest and they move together, Castiel’s hips rising to meet Dean’s slowly increasing pace.

Dean’s mouth latches onto his neck, nibbles over the soft flesh and bites down on his collar bone as he slams inside him, harder than he ever has before. He hits Castiel’s prostate and Castiel’s dick is slip-sliding in the sweat and pre-come, rubbing against both of their bellies and he comes hard.

He moans through it, holds on to Dean so hard he’s sure the marks his nails are making on Dean’s back will last for days and Dean makes a pitiful whimpering sound and starts to thrust faster.

“Cas… God Cas, so close. I’m so close. Can you..?”

“Shh, Dean,” he coos, once he can speak again. He knows what Dean wants but he can’t give it to him. Not this time. “Let go. Do it. I need you to…”

Dean’s hips work even faster, a frantic pace and his face twists up like it’s almost painful.

“Please,” Castiel begs, his whisper blowing softly across the skin of Dean’s neck and Dean finally lets go.

Dean takes his time moving, but now that they’re finished Castiel feels cold, guilty and he needs to get this over with, get out of there. He pushes gently at Dean’s shoulders to roll him and Dean gives him a shy smile but goes willingly.

Dean grabs a few tissues from the table by the bed and uses them to wipe the mess off Castiel’s stomach before he puts his hand down on it possessively, fingers dancing across the skin, dipping in and out of his belly button.

Castiel opens his mouth to speak but Dean beats him to it.

“Are you pissed?”

“Excuse me?”

“You saw, right? That fucking video that’s been all over the tabloids?”

“I saw,” Castiel confirms.

“Are you pissed? Christian’s lucky I didn’t kill him, the fucker. He busts me and Sam, but he fuckin’ forgets he was in that limo too. With someone who wasn’t Arlene. Asshole.”

Castiel takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

“I’m not pissed,” he answers, and he means it. He’s not upset with Dean. It’s not Dean’s fault, not really. He’s only doing what he’s always done, what Castiel lets him do because he’s never asked him not to. It’s not his fault that a video of it ended up on television and pictures in the papers.

“Thank God,” Dean says and leans in close, kisses Castiel’s forehead and slides his nose down the side of his face, presses his lips to skin under Castiel’s earlobe.

“I’ve been seeing someone,” Castiel says suddenly, gently pushing Dean away. He _needs_ this to stop.

“And?” Dean asks, with a slightly confused expression. “I didn’t figure you were sittin’ at home alone, waitin’ by the phone for me when I’m not around.” No, of course Dean wouldn’t care about that. It doesn’t affect him. Only it does. Now it does.

“And it’s made me realise that I need more than you can give me.”

“Wait… what?”

“I can’t keep seeing you.” There. The words are out but instead of relief he feels panic. He tamps it down and tries to stay strong.

“What the fuck was all this about then?” Dean asks, gesturing to their sated, naked bodies. “What, thought you’d get one last fuck in before you break it off? I’ve still got the fucking condom on! Wow, Cas. Dick move.”

“I’m sorry,” is all Castiel says. He could tell Dean how he didn’t intend for this to happen today, tell him he only planned on doing him the courtesy of ending things in person, but it doesn’t matter. He gave in, used Dean’s body and his heart one last time and in the end it’s all the same.

“So, what?” Dean asks, snarling a little. He sits up roughly and yanks off the used condom, tossing it on the floor before he stands and tugs on his pants. Castiel does the same. “Some other guy rocks your world a few times and now… now you’re done with me? He really that good in the sack?”

Dean actually looks hurt. Not only that, he looks _small_. And kind of angry. 

Which shouldn’t be a surprise, because Castiel knows that Dean cares about him. It shouldn’t be a surprise but it is. He’d sort of been expecting Dean to just shrug it off, tell him it had been fun and head upstairs to pick up a replacement.

Castiel sighs and lowers his head, looks for his shirt and puts that on too. “That’s not how it is, Dean.”

“Then how is it, Cas? Because I thought we were cool.” When Dean puts on his own t-shirt he does it so roughly that Castiel is worried the material will rip.

“We were.”

“But we’re not anymore? What happened? Did you… Do you love this other guy?”

Castiel shakes his head. No, he really doesn’t. Never did and never could have. Not with Dean always hanging in the periphery. That’s the whole problem. “I’m not even seeing him anymore.”

“Then what the hell?”

“I ended things with him because I didn’t love him. And I’m ending things with you because I _do_ love you.”

“How is loving me a reason to break up with me?” Dean sounds frustrated now. Almost desperate as he moves to stand closer. Castiel understands how he feels.

“Because you don’t love me back,” Castiel says sadly. “I don’t think you even know how.” Dean looks like he’s going to protest but Castiel stops him with a soft hand on his chest. “I know you care. I know you’re doing the best you can. But I need stability, Dean. I need fidelity and commitment. And I won’t ask you to change for me. You wouldn’t do it anyway and we both know that.”

“You don’t think so?” Dean challenges.

Castiel shakes his head. “I don’t. This, for you… It’s new. It’s forbidden and it’s exciting and you like it because you feel like you’re chasing someone for once instead of having someone throw themselves at you. Were it to get real, Dean, you would panic. You’d continue to hide our relationship from people. You’d continue to sleep around and you’d lie to me about it.”

“Fuck you!”

“It’s the life that you’re used to living, Dean. I didn’t mean to imply…”

“That I’m a lying, cheating coward? Yeah, don’t know how I could have ever gotten that impression.”

“It just won’t work. Dean, be honest with me. If I had never said anything, if I just kept on letting you believe that I was happy with what he have… had. Would you have ever thought to pursue something more with me? Would you have decided all on your own that you wanted to commit, stop sleeping with other people, call me every day and mark my birthday down on your calendar? Send me flowers and introduce me as your boyfriend?”

Dean takes a deep breath and when he answers Castiel knows he’s being one hundred percent truthful. “No. No, I wouldn’t have. I _like_ the way things are. But…”

Castiel shakes his head and when he talks his voice is sure and firm. “That’s what I thought. It’s better we end this now, before it turns into something we both regret.” He hadn’t realised he was such a good actor.

“No matter what I say right now, your mind’s already made up, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Dean.” It is. It has to be. This is the right thing to do, no matter how much it hurts.

Dean nods and pushes past Castiel, opens the door and starts to step out. “I’m gonna head upstairs. You can stay the night, whatever.”

“I am sorry, Dean.”

“Yeah,” he says, and leaves without turning back, closing the door quietly behind him.

***

The next morning, Dean is standing in the hotel lobby next to Sam, and a woman Castiel has never seen before. He thinks about avoiding them, thinks about ducking into the bar for a cup of coffee, but he has a flight to catch. Also, he’s an adult and he doesn’t have to hide from ex-lovers. Even those that are very recently ex.

Castiel starts to walk toward them, toward the door. He pauses for a moment – but only for a moment – when Dean kisses the woman on the mouth. She giggles at him and offers him a silly little wave before she gets into one of taxis that are waiting outside.

Dean turns then, and when he catches Castiel’s eye, he quickly darts his glance away – to the floor, the wall next to him, the plant in the corner. He settles back on Castiel after a few seconds though, his eyes narrowed and his jaw set, as if daring Castiel to comment. Castiel almost smiles. Dean looks at him for only a moment longer before his shoulders slump and with a soft tap on Sam’s arm, he heads to the elevators.

Sam doesn’t follow, though. He waits for Castiel to walk to the door and smiles at him when he gets there. Castiel can’t quite bring himself to smile back.

“Hey,” Sam says.

“Hello Sam.”

“My brother’s an idiot, you know that, right?”

Castiel does smile then, a little.

“He’s not an idiot. We just want different things.”

“No, he’s an idiot,” Sam insists. “He’s more into you than he’s been into anyone in a very long time. And if he’s willing to let you go…”

“It wasn’t his choice.”

Sam blinks then and looks at Castiel like he didn’t quite hear him right. “Wait… you broke up with him?”

Castiel sighs and tilts his head. “I merely pointed out what we both know. It won’t work between us.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes,” Castiel hisses, tired of having to defend his decision. Especially since he's maybe not really that sure about it at all.

“Alright fine,” Sam says, backing up with his hands raised. “I’m not here to bust your chops about breaking Dean’s heart. The way he goes through bed partners, it was only a matter of time before it came back to bite him in the ass. I’m mostly just surprised he hasn’t knocked somebody up by now.”

“I highly doubt I broke his heart,” Castiel says, even though a part of him hopes it’s true.

Sam smiles at him a little crookedly. “He’s hurting. He really likes you.”

“I know,” Castiel agrees. “But this is best.”

“If you say so.” Sam shrugs and starts to walk toward the elevators, probably to catch up with Dean. “Just be sure. Because I don’t let this get out a lot, but Dean’s worth a little bit of bullshit.”

Castiel just nods at Sam and walks out the door. He gets into the 9:15 airport shuttle and sits next to a middle-aged man in a purple three piece suit. He wonders about what the man’s story might be for his entire trip home.

***

He misses Dean every second of every day, even more than he did before.

He learns Russian.

He’s looking at a promotion at work so he stays at the office late most days. He makes friends with the night watchman, Balthazar, and brings him the leftover donuts from the break room on his way out.

He still misses Dean, but he still knows he’s done the right thing.


	7. Chapter 7

Castiel spends the week following his break-up with Dean perfecting his recipe for white chocolate caramel blondies. It’s not as easy as you might think, so whatever's left of his time after work and lunches with Anna and midnight pastries with Balthazar is spent in his kitchen. It’s a long week, exhausting and mind-numbing, but two good things come out of it.

One, is that by the end of Thursday, he’s got a fridge full of orgasm-inducing desserts. Seriously, they’re _that_ good – the secret is to make the caramel filling with white sugar and the blondies themselves with light brown sugar. That, and to beat the eggs separately _before_ adding them in.

The second good thing, is that it helps to take his mind off Dean. There are times, hours in a row even, when he doesn’t think of Dean at all.

He still thinks he did the right thing in ending the affair, but that knowledge doesn’t stop the ache, the hollow feeling in his chest whenever he’s idle.

Gabriel takes him out that Friday night. They’re at one of the tackiest gay bars Castiel has ever been to (not that he’s been to many) and when Castiel brushes off the fourth guy who’d offered to buy in a drink in the past hour, Gabriel sighs impatiently and rolls his eyes.

“Cas, you need to get laid.”

“I’ve had plenty of sex lately, Gabriel,” Castiel answers tightly and throws back another shot of something pink and fruity, leaving the empty glass on the table with a dozen or so others. “But thank you for your concern.”

“You need to _rebound_ ,” Gabriel tells him. “You need to sleep with someone you normally wouldn’t even talk to and wake up in the morning regretting every minute of it, so that you can feel like shit about something that’s not _Dean fucking Winchester_.”

“Gabriel, I’m…”

“If you tell me you’re _fine_ one more time, Cas, I won’t be responsible for my actions. Now shut up, have another drink, and go stick it in the next guy that comes over.”

Castiel does all three and when he wakes up the next morning, hung over and naked in a stranger’s bed, he has to admit that Gabriel was right. He’s not thinking about Dean anymore.

That lasts for about as long as it takes him to get home and shower the smell of sex off him.

It hasn’t been that long since Castiel was last in love with someone, but he doesn’t ever remember it being this painful.

***

He doesn’t expect the text message from Dean when it comes on Sunday afternoon.

_Sam lost his shoe. It fell down a sewer and now he has to walk back four blocks to the hotel in his sock. You should see his face! Fucking priceless._

And then two minutes later, another.

_Sorry. Forgot for a minute._

***

He takes to keeping up with Dean, with the band, through public channels, reading about them in the paper or on the internet. Celebrity gossip sites and Youtube have become his best friends and he’s even started to check out some fan sites. It’s probably extremely unhealthy, this near obsession that he’s developed, this need to know where Dean is, how his shows are going, how he looks, what he’s wearing, but it’s not as if any of his other hobbies are raging successes.

He’s lousy at knitting and Russian it turns out, but he’s very good at stalking Dean from afar.

Besides, it doesn’t get in the way of the rest of his life; he got the promotion at work, he’s started up regular Wednesday dinners with Balthazar, he still meets with his siblings regularly and his apartment is clean. He’s even been on a couple of dates, not that he’s planning on seeing either of those men ever again.

It’s on a particularly gloomy Saturday afternoon, thunder clapping outside and rain beating down against his window while he’s idly browsing the internet for news on Dean and the rest of the band, that Castiel learns about _Wincest_. 

It turns out that there’s a subset of _12 Gauge_ ’s fan base that actually believes that Dean and Sam are sleeping with one another. Some of them even write detailed pornographic stories about their hypothetical incestuous relationship and post them online for others to read.

Castiel reads two of them and can’t decide whether he’s disgusted or intrigued. Two things he does know, though, are that Dean would never, ever speak the lines of dialogue the first author claims, and that the position the second author has them in isn’t physically possible.

He closes his browser and makes a note never to go back to that site again.

***

Another week goes by and Castiel’s Russian has improved slightly. So has his knitting but he’s given up completely on the needlepoint. And dating. It’s been three days since he’s checked up on Dean, and he feels like he should maybe get one of those tokens, like at AA meetings.

***

_You know what, Cas? Fuck this. I miss you._

***

Castiel has to work late Wednesday night and Gabriel hangs around in his office alternately making fun of him and fiddling with his PSP, while sprawled out in the guest chair. It’s past ten o’clock and he’s just packing up when his phone chirps.

_Can you… Can you just call me? Please._

Castiel doesn’t answer. He can’t, because he knows how that goes. He’ll hear Dean’s voice, he’ll fall all over again and it’s not as if he’s come very far in his attempt to get over Dean, but it’s far enough and he doesn’t want to start from the beginning again.

Nothing has changed, they still want different things, and it isn’t fair to either of them to pretend any different.

***

Gabriel meets a girl named Kali and he insists that she’s _the one_. Castiel gets introduced to her when Gabriel asks him and Anna to join them for dinner and Castiel can’t help but agree wholeheartedly

They’re perfect for each other. He’s happy for his brother but at the same time he wants to murder him in his sleep, because it’s not fair that he gets to be happy while Castiel is miserable. Mostly, he’s happy for Gabriel though. It’s about time he found someone.

***

_Fine, have it your way._

***

Castiel thinks that’s the end, that Dean will leave him alone and he’ll mourn the loss and move on. Find someone he connects with who’s actually good for him, fall in love, settle down and be happy.

It’s really just the beginning.

***

_You should see this room. We’ve had nice rooms before, but holy fuck._

***

_Adam forgot his girlfriend’s birthday. He’s in so much shit. Poor guy. Sam’s laughing his ass off._

***

_We got this cold cut platter for lunch with tiny little pieces of bread… Sam and Adam re-enacted the scene from ‘This Is Spinal Tap’. How am I related to them?_

***

_Adam and Christian are sick with bronchitis. Our show sucked ass today._

***

For weeks this goes on, text messages from Dean about his day, what he’s doing, his family and his job. Castiel never answers and even thinks about changing his phone number, but never seriously. In truth, he likes it. Likes that Dean is still thinking about him, because he’s still thinking about Dean. Every single day.

***

_Christian was actually cool today. Sometimes I don’t really mind the guy._

***

_Sometimes I wonder what I’d be doing right now if it wasn’t this. I’ve kind of always wanted to be a fireman._

***

_We’re back in Lawrence tonight. Last show of the tour. I’ll leave a couple tickets for you at will call, just in case. I’d really like you to be there._

***

Castiel already has tickets to the show. He’s been planning on going with Anna for at least a month. He doesn’t tell Dean that though, and he feels a little guilty when the show comes and goes and the tickets Dean left for him go unclaimed.

***

Anna’s at his apartment on a Sunday afternoon. They’ve just finished lunch and are half way through a game of Scrabble when there’s a knock on the door. Castiel finishes laying the word ‘CLAVICLE’ in beige squares across the board and gets up to answer. He’s not expecting anybody.

If he’d bothered to look through the peephole first he might not have opened the door, but he didn’t so he does. He’s proud of himself for how calm he is when he sees Dean standing on the other side, for ignoring the way his body seizes up and his heart comes to a near stop in his chest.

He’d be even prouder if he was able to form any actual words, or move in any way.

“Cas,” Dean greets after a beat. “Can I uh… can I come in?”

Castiel seems to regain motor function just as he hears Anna’s voice from behind him.

“Cas?” she asks. “Who is it?” and Castiel steps back to allow Dean entrance.

“Holy…” Anna says, and stands up from the floor where she’d been sitting opposite Castiel around the coffee table. “Dean Winchester? Seriously? What are…”

Castiel sighs and shuts the door behind Dean, moving out of the way so he can step further into the apartment. “Dean this is my sister Anna,” he says, gesturing from one to the other. “Anna this is Dean. Winchester, obviously.”

Dean smiles politely at Anna and her eyes go even wider. “Oh my God,” she almost whispers this time, then looks from Dean to Castiel. “You know _Dean Winchester_?”

“Yeah,” Dean says bitterly, after an awkward moment of silence that Castiel is reluctant to break. He wouldn’t even know where to start. “He used me for sex for a while, but then a better offer came along.”

Anna’s mouth actually drops open at that and Castiel’s eyes narrow and go hard. He takes a step closer to Dean, stiffens his jaw and stares him down and he’s pleased when Dean blinks and shuffles back a little, eyes skittering away.

“That is not what happened and you know it. If you can’t at least be civil, please leave.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, clears his throat and his fingers twitch at his sides. “Uh, sorry.”

“What do you want, Dean?”

Dean takes a deep breath and looks at Castiel with a mixture of so much vulnerability and determination, but then he glances over to Anna and smiles crookedly. “Hey Anna?” he asks, and she nearly swoons at Dean’s mention of her name. “Do you think you could give us a few minutes?”

Anna, bless her heart, looks to Castiel uncertainly, asking silent permission. She doesn’t want to go if he needs her.

“It’s alright, Anna,” he says softly, one corner of his mouth turning up in a partial, reassuring grin. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“You better,” she warns, before she kisses him on the cheek and grabs her coat and purse from the rack by the door. “I want details, Cas.”

“It was nice to uh… meet you,” Dean offers and Castiel can feel the discomfort radiating off him as he leans in to kiss his sister on her temple. It’s a sweet gesture, one that makes Anna let out a soft squeal and makes Castiel’s heart soften. He’s in trouble here, he knows that. “I’m sorry if I came across as kind of a jackass.”

“What do you want, Dean,” Castiel asks when the door shuts behind his sister. He tries to keep his voice hard, keep up the front he’s been working on since the last time he saw Dean.

Dean takes that same deep breath again, filling them both with anticipation, only this time he follows it through with words.

“You’re wrong.”

“Excuse me?”

“And you’re an asshole.”

“Dean…”

“You’re wrong. That I don’t know how to love. I love Sam. I love Adam. I loved my parents and I’ve even loved a couple of girlfriends. I’ve been in loving, committed relationships and I’m not saying that it one hundred percent for sure would have worked out with you, but you’re an asshole for not even giving me the chance to try.”

Castiel knows that Dean is right about that, but Castiel was right too, when he made the decision. “I was trying to spare us both the hurt,” he says, and as the words tumble out, he realises how entirely stupid he was. They’re both obviously hurting anyway.

“No,” Dean disagrees. “You were being a coward. You never once told me what you wanted. You never once said you wanted more from me than what we had. God, Cas, I was _happy_. I thought you were too. But you weren’t, and you just decided you couldn’t have what you really wanted and _left me_. Out of the fucking blue. You’re an asshole. So you wanna know what I want? What I need?”

Probably not, Castiel thinks. “What?”

“You told me that night that you needed stability, commitment. Well I _don’t_ , you were right about that. I don’t need those things, not right now. I don’t even know for sure that I can give you what you need from me, so you might end up being right about it all anyway, who knows? What I do know, is the thought of not having you, of never being with you again… Cas, it’s been eating me up inside. That’s not something I want to find out. I want _you_. And if those other things come along with you, well it’s not really up to you to tell me whether or not I can do it. It’s not up to you tell me I don’t care enough.”

Castiel feels his breath catch, feels light and heavy at the same time with the weight of Dean’s words. He wants to believe him, wants this to be their happily ever after but he’s not that stupid. He’s been here before.

But Dean’s right that Castiel was unfair. He knows Dean pretty well after all this time and if there’s one thing he knows it’s that Dean knows how to love. He’s loyal, he’s honest, he’s never once lied to Castiel. He’s pursued him relentlessly when Castiel gave him no reason to and now he’s standing in his living room asking for another chance when anyone else would have long forgotten him.

But Dean is also very human, very capable of making mistakes that would destroy Castiel and he can admit to himself that yes, he is a coward. Maybe too much of a coward to take that risk.

Because this is about more than just Dean’s ‘free love’ policy. There’s something else standing in their way. Something huge.

That problem gets put on the backburner for now though, because the way Dean’s looking at him, anger and frustration turning to heat and undisguised want, leaves Castiel’s resolve in tatters.

“Dean,” he says, takes two steps forward and covers Dean’s mouth with his own. “I don’t think we should be doing this.” He doesn’t, but it doesn’t stop him from running his tongue along Dean’s teeth.

“Tell me, Cas,” Dean pleads between kisses, hands wrapping around Castiel’s waist and moving up under his t-shirt. “Tell me we can try. That you’ll at least give us a chance.”

Castiel wants to, he really does. He can’t though, so he just kisses Dean again deeper, pulls him down the hall while they strip off their clothes.

“Gabriel caught a tadpole once. He put it in a jar in the yard but when he went inside for supper I brought it back to the creek and let it go,” Castiel says as he manoeuvres them through the bedroom door.

Dean jerks in his arms, lets out a shuddering breath and strokes Castiel’s cock a few times while he nibbles his bottom lip.

“Fuck, Cas. God, yes,” he says, sounds happy, relieved, strung out in a good way.

“I ran away from home when I was nine. My parents wouldn’t get me a dog and my mother packed me a sandwich for lunch. I spent the day on the swings at the park and came home for supper when I got hungry,” he tells Dean when Dean pushes him down on the bed and Dean’s eyes slide shut as he pushes Castiel’s legs aside and settles in between them.

“I make really good pizza,” he says and he flips them over, straddles Dean’s waist and reaches over to the table for a condom while Dean blinks up at him.

“Jesus, Cas. Gonna come before I even get in you.”

He can’t help himself then. He’s still not sure they’re not over and he can’t help himself. He slips the condom down over Dean’s hard cock and Dean moans under his touch, bucks his hips up and clutches at Castiel’s thighs until he lowers himself down onto Dean’s length.

“Yes. God yes, Cas, move. Please.”

Castiel complies, can’t possibly not, and when he’s set up a steady rhythm, hands on Dean’s chest to keep him steady, he starts talking again.

“I skipped the fourth grade.”

Dean groans and a hand slides over Castiel’s hip to grip his erection, starts to jerk it and Castiel`s rhythm falters. It feels good. It always feels good. Better than good and even better than that because it’s _Dean_ , and it’s been too long.

“I had sex with a woman in college. It didn’t take.”

Dean whimpers and Castiel can tell he’s getting closer. That’s good, because Castiel isn’t going to last much longer. Dean looks unbelievable underneath him, spread out and willing, so sweet and beautiful and perfect, Castiel’s for the taking. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt so powerful, so strong. So in love.

“Everyone thinks I always get up early, but sometimes I stay in bed until noon and watch television.”

“Driving me crazy, man,” Dean pants, hips jerking and eyes screwed shut tight. “My dad caught me jerking off to a copy of _Sports Illustrated_ when I was seventeen. He freaked out at first, but he was… Jesus, Cas, just like that… he was surprisingly cool when Sam came out a year later.”

Castiel stills then, not having expected that and he suddenly gets it. Gets why Dean loves it so much, the small insights into Castiel’s life, into who he is. It’s intoxicating, addictive, makes him feel closer to Dean than anyone else gets to be, even other people that fuck him, because they don’t know these things. They don’t know Dean like he does.

And nobody really knows him like Dean does. Not in the ways that matter to them.

He bucks up into Dean’s fist then, comes in spurts all over Dean’s stomach and the sight makes him twitch and shiver, slip back and sink down further onto Dean’s cock, draw out every last bit of pleasure he can.

He doesn’t wait, doesn’t bother to rest, just keeps pumping his hips up and down, coaxing Dean to that edge, the hard head of Dean’s prick pushing against his over-sensitive prostate. It’s too much and it’s not enough. It’s never enough.

“I go strawberry picking with Anna on a farm just outside town every spring. We make so much jam that we’re sick of it by winter, but we do it every year.” Only this time, that’s not what Dean’s looking for.

“Please, Cas,” Dean whispers, pulls Castiel down by his arm until Castiel’s chest is resting against Dean’s and Dean can speak into his mouth. “Please tell me we’re okay. That this isn’t the last time.”

“I love you,” Castiel whispers back, because that’s the best he can do right now, the barest hint of his breath passing over Dean’s lips. It’s not really an answer but that doesn’t seem to matter to Dean.

His hands move to Castiel’s hips, hold him tight and pull him down as Dean pushes up, half a dozen silted jerks and then he’s crying out, a wordless, needy sound as he spills inside Castiel’s body.

Castiel is better about it this time. Waits until they’re both recovered and cleaned up and dressed again (though those five minutes are incredibly awkward) before he leads Dean back out into the living room and picks their conversation up where it left off before Castiel’s dick took over.

“I’m a man, Dean,” he says, that one big thing still standing between them.

“Believe it or not, Cas,” Dean says, taking a sip from the glass of water Castiel had offered him, “I did notice that.”

Castiel partially returns the smile. “Could you really be with me?” he asks, getting to the point. “Give up women? Could you deal with the publicity that would go along with it?”

“I… I don’t know,” Dean says and Castiel again has to admire his honestly. “I just know that I miss you and you should have trusted me. You should have told me what you needed from me and given me the chance to give it to you.”

“Maybe I should have.” He takes a deep breath. “You’re right, I was scared. But can you blame me?”

Dean’s smile turns a little knowing at that. 

“Not really, no,” he admits. “I know I wouldn’t exactly win any ‘boyfriend of the year’ contests. And yeah, maybe I’m not ready to see us in the tabloids, hear people talk about how Dean Winchester takes it up the ass.”

“Given my experience, you’ve never taken it up the ass,” Castiel says with a wry grin, tries to lighten the mood.

Dean snickers and tilts his head. “Maybe once or twice. But that’s not even the point. My point is that I don’t have to deal with that right now.”

“So… you _don’t_ want us to be together?”

“No, that’s… Look, I’m not saying I know it’s gonna work out, but. We’re done touring. The band. And we’re taking some time off before we start working on our next album. That gives us plenty of time out of the public eye to work the non-long distance, ‘normal’ relationship thing, see how we do with it.”

It’s all Castiel can do to not pin Dean down and take him again, right now. He’s right. He’s absolutely right and Castiel can’t believe how he could have ever written this off as not even a possibility. Dean is trying. He’s trying harder than Castiel ever did to make this work and the least he owes this man is a chance. If he ends up broken-hearted, well then he’ll be no worse off than he is now, and Dean might surprise him. He might surprise himself.

“And in a couple of years,” Dean continues, and Castiel shakes himself out of the fantasy that’s currently running through his mind, Dean naked and spread out while Castiel licks him open until Dean begs for it, and tunes back in, “when I’m back on the road? If you and I are still… you know, _you and I_ , we’ll deal with it then. I want you. _Just_ you. And I’m not gonna start makin’ phone calls to the press or anything, but I want to try not to hide, at least from the people that matter. So, what do you say?”

“Why Dean Winchester,” Castiel asks, batting his eyelashes in a highly exaggerated move that makes him feel utterly ridiculous as he shifts closer to Dean on the couch. Dean barks out a sharp laugh and Castiel smiles in relief. “Are you asking me to go steady?”

“What if I am?” Dean asks, leaning closer so that his warm breath puffs out over Castiel’s cheek.

Castiel’s smile is too wide to even consider containing as he presses a quick kiss to Dean’s lips. Dean’s worth it, he reminds himself. _They’re_ worth it. No matter what happens.

“Then the answer is yes.”


	8. Chapter 8

They have their ups and downs.

***

When Dean’s not being flown from city to city or being chauffeured around in limousines, he drives a 1967 Chevy Impala that he rebuilt from essentially nothing after the wreck that killed his father and landed him and Sam in the hospital for nearly a week. 

He drives it when he picks Castiel up for their first official date and Dean looks so _proud_ of the thing, beams as he holds the passenger door open for Castiel. He coos at it, calls it ‘baby’ and glides his hand along the roof soothingly, like he’s worried it might be jealous. Castiel can’t hold back a smile.

“It’s a lovely car, Dean,” Castiel admits, when they pull up to the restaurant.

“Damn right she is,” Dean says with a nod and leads him inside.

It’s a steakhouse. A nice one, though it’s nothing overly romantic and Dean doesn’t act any different than Castiel thinks he would if he was there with Sam or Adam. He doesn’t hold out Castiel’s chair, doesn’t order for him, doesn’t hold his hand on top of the table or feed him bites of his pie or kiss him.

He does get them a table in a smaller, semi-private room towards the back of the restaurant and Dean smiles at him a little too much as they share a fine bottle of wine, but nobody looking at them would know they were on a date.

Castiel could have missed it himself, almost does, except for how Dean pays for everything and comes home with him after, follows him into his bedroom and they don’t leave it again for two days. Dean throws on a pair of pants to answer the door when Chinese and pizza show up, but that’s about it.

They eat that in the bedroom too, watch television naked while Dean fucks him doggy style and looks up every once in a while with some disparaging remarks about one of the football teams that are playing. It’s possible the game is important, but Dean’s not paying all that much attention and Castiel certainly isn’t.

They lie in each other’s arms, doze and talk about mundane things until they’re ready to go again. Dean takes his time, presses Castiel face down onto the bed with his hands pinned above his head, covers his body with his own and it’s nearly an hour before he brings them both off. Castiel is nearly incoherent by the end and he falls asleep happy with his head on Dean’s chest, while Dean watches a cheesy horror flick and runs his fingers through Castiel’s hair.

The two days they spend in bed are two of the best days of Castiel’s life. When Dean finally leaves, just as Gabriel shows up for Thai night, Dean doesn’t even hesitate as he kisses him goodbye. It isn’t exactly public, but he’s not hiding it, either. It’s slow and soft, one hand on the back of Castiel’s neck and the other on his hip as they stand in the open doorway and Gabriel and Mrs. Hawkins, Castiel’s nosey neighbour, stare blatantly at them.

“Bye Cas,” Dean says when he pulls back. Castiel is so breathless he can only nod. “Gabe,” Dean says to Gabriel on his way down the hall and he only winks at Mrs. Hawkins. 

Castiel is so in love it hurts.

***

 _12 Gauge_ goes to a charity dinner for a state-run homeless shelter. Adam brings his girlfriend, Christian brings his wife, Sam brings Nick and Dean goes alone.

Castiel doesn’t even find out about it until he sees it on the local news and when he shows up at Dean’s house the next Friday night for the weekend they’d planned together, he asks him about it.

“You told me you weren’t going to hide.”

Okay, so maybe he more accuses than asks. Whatever. He’s got reason.

“I’m not,” Dean bristles, shifts from one foot to the other as he awkwardly hangs Castiel’s coat up in the closet. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about, Dean,” Castiel says and he’s glad that when he looks around, the house appears empty. “The dinner. You didn’t ask me.”

“You wanted me to?” Dean challenges. “Cas, you’ve made it pretty clear that you’re off-limits Monday to Friday.” That’s true, Castiel has. They live three hours apart and Castiel had been adamant that any meet-ups they have during the week take place in Clearwater, because Castiel has a job he’s not willing to sacrifice just because he has a wealthy boyfriend.

Still…

“This was a special occasion, Dean. You know I would have made an exception. You were just too afraid to show up with a man on your arm.”

Dean looks at him for a moment, jaw tight and eyes hard before he sags a little, walks into the kitchen and pulls two beers out of the fridge.

“I know,” he says, handing one to Castiel. “You’re right. I just… I’m not ready yet, Cas.”

“I wonder if you’ll ever be ready,” Castiel muses, as he cradles his bottle of beer to his chest.

They fuck that night, and the next. It’s rough, almost brutal as he pounds into Dean’s face so hard Dean chokes and sputters, coughs up Castiel’s come. Then Dean throws him down and pushes into him quick and dry, makes him bleed a little. They don’t actually talk much that weekend and it’s awkward, a little uncomfortable when Sam and Nick show up on Saturday and Castiel has to pretend he’s fine.

Dean pulls him aside on Sunday afternoon, before he can slip away. The other two are sprawled out in the living room watching some movie that Castiel has never seen, but Dean and Sam seem to know line by line, when Castiel tries to make his getaway. Dean follows him out onto the porch and stops him before he can get into his car.

“Cas, wait.”

“Dean, I need to go.”

“I know. I know you do. I just wanted to…” Dean takes three steps and the wooden boards under his feet creak. He reaches out and puts one hand firmly on Castiel’s cheek, pulls him in and presses a hesitant kiss to his lips. “You know I care about you. Right? You know that. And I know I suck at this. Just please, tell me we’re okay and you’re not gonna get all crazy and leave me again.”

He’s half smiling, but it’s forced and Castiel wants to reassure him, he really does.

“I love you, Dean,” he says. Those words have become so easy at this point. “But I won’t let you hide me forever.”

***

Castiel hasn’t told Dean when his birthday is.

That doesn’t stop Dean from showing up at his apartment on a Tuesday night and taking him out.

Dinner is nice, a fancy French place that Castiel has never been to before. Someone outside takes their picture as they walk through the door and Dean tenses briefly before he forces himself to relax, grabs Castiel’s hand as he greets the hostess. It’s a small step, but he knows that for Dean it’s huge. Castiel appreciates that.

After dinner Dean takes him, of all places, to a roller rink around the block from where Castiel lives. Dean has planned a party for him there, mostly because Gabriel told him that Castiel likes to roller skate, which he hadn’t known until just now is actually true. Gabriel and Anna are there, along with Balthazar and a few other friends from work, plus Sam and Nick and Adam. 

They skate for a while, but when Castiel decides if he falls on his ass one more time he won’t be in any shape for the vigorous birthday sex he plans to have later, they agree to break for some drinks.

“Happy birthday, baby,” Dean whispers against his ear, after they’ve made their way off the rink and he’s pulled into a small alcove between lockers. Dean is pressing him against the wall as their skates slide precariously beneath them.

“Someone might see,” Castiel doesn’t quite protest. He angles his head so Dean can press in closer.

“Then you better hurry up and kiss me.”

Castiel can’t really argue with that.

***

When they’re alone, back at Castiel’s apartment and sitting on his living room couch, Dean gives him his present.

Castiel is looking down at a photo of a brand new, top of the line range, along with a delivery slip for two days from now. He’s smiling fondly when Dean palms his cheek and lifts his face. 

“You like?” he asks. “I’m not trying to like, send you a message or anything, just… I know you like to cook, and your oven is a piece of crap and… Yeah.”

“Yes, Dean. I like it very much.” It’s not an overly personal gift, but it’s thoughtful enough. Castiel’s current oven is old, two of the elements are burnt out and last week it stopped heating up past 400 degrees.

“Good,” Dean says. He clears his throat, shifts around in his seat as he reaches into his pocket. “I uh… I have something else for you. If you don’t want it that’s fine, I won’t be offended, just… I wanted you to have it and…”

“Dean,” Castiel smiles. “What is it?”

Dean blushes beautifully and holds his fist out, places it over Castiel’s hand and when he pulls it back there’s a small, bronze key sitting in his palm.

“It’s a key,” Dean says, while he stares at Castiel’s knees.

“I can see that,” Castiel tells him. His chest feels tight, hope pushing hard against his ribs, though he doesn’t dare assume. Not until Dean tells him.

“It’s to the house. _My_ house.” Castiel already has a drawer in Dean’s bedroom but this means so much more than that. “I want you to… I want you to be able to walk in on me when I’m dancing in the living room in my underwear, or when I’m burning lasagne, or when I’m watching Sam’s gay porn and pretending I don’t get off on it.”

“I hope you don’t do that when Sam’s in the room,” he jokes, but Dean doesn’t take the bait.

“I think we’re ready for that. Don’t you?”

Dean sounds so small, so hopeful that Castiel can’t resist climbing onto his lap, straddling his waist and kissing him, deep and desperate.

“Yes, Dean,” he says. He really hopes they are.

Two minutes later Dean has him bent over the back of the couch as they rut against each other, one of Dean’s hands on Castiel’s hip, the other wrapped around his cock.

Neither of them lasts long.

“Have you ever even put on a pair of roller skates in your life?” Dean asks, bending his knees and thrusting up hard at just the right angle. Castiel’s entire body tingles and he just barely manages to hold back his orgasm.

“Never,” he admits. “I’ve been skiing before. I’m not bad, but Gabriel is terrible at it. We should take him and Kali some weekend. We owe him.”

Dean comes then and he holds Castiel close, sucks a deep bruise into Castiel’s neck and he moans quietly. “Anything,” Dean breathes out. “We’ll do anything you want, Cas. God, I can’t believe...”

Dean’s grip on his cock tightens, the pace of his thrusts increase and he works Castiel through his orgasm so hard that Castiel knows he’ll feel it for days after.

***

A picture that someone managed to take of them kissing at Castiel’s birthday party ends up on the internet. Castiel calls Dean three times but Dean doesn’t call him back for four days. When he finally does, it’s to let Castiel know he’ll be out of town for a while, and he’ll call him when he gets back.

Dean sounds distant and Castiel worries that maybe it’s too much, maybe Dean _won’t_ call him and this is it.

He’s glad that isn’t the case when a week and half later Dean sends him a text message.

_I’m back. Friday?_

***

It’s been two whole weeks since he’s seen Dean, since he’s even talked to him. Dean’s been away, with the band. They’ve had time set aside for interviews and TV spots, a kind of a post-tour wrap-up with the media. 

Castiel catches Dean on the news and smiles.

He sees Dean in magazines and smiles.

He spots Dean’s picture in a cheap gossip rag in the checkout line at the grocery store and he nearly dies inside.

***

It’s Friday.

Dean hasn’t contacted him since the request to meet up, so Castiel gets in his car and makes the three hour drive as soon as work lets out that evening. He doesn’t bother packing. He’s got clothes at Dean’s house, a toothbrush in the bathroom. His soap in the shower, his favourite ice cream in the freezer and his peach jam in the pantry.

He’s got a newspaper in the passenger seat and he brings it with him when he lets himself into the house. Dean and Sam are in the kitchen, working their way through heaping bowlfuls of chilli when he walks through the door and Dean’s happy smile turns to a frown of confusion when Castiel slaps the paper down on the table next to Dean.

“Is there something you’d like to tell me?” Castiel bites. Dean looks down at the table long enough to take in the picture on the front of the ‘entertainment’ section. It’s a picture of Dean and Tessa, his arm is around her shoulders while she leans in close and presses a kiss to his neck, her hand yet again splayed over his stomach. There’s something about that pose, like her right to Dean is a given. It drives Castiel to madness. He smacks his hand on the table again and Dean flinches, then looks back up.

“You’re looking lovely this evening, darling?”

“Dean…” he says, and he’s glad that it comes out more warning than pleading.

Dean sighs deeply. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to say that you’re not fucking her,” Castiel says bluntly and Sam nearly chokes.

“Dude, he’s not fucking her,” Sam denies. Dean grips Castiel’s wrist and pulls him down so he’s sitting next to him at the table.

“I’m not fucking her,” Dean confirms.

Castiel knows he’s not. He knows this, but when he opens his mouth what comes out is “Aren’t you?”

“Cas…”

“The article says that she’s your girlfriend. That the two of you have been spotted together several times. They even speculate that you’ll be married in the near future.”

“Well they’re wrong,” Dean insists. “You know… Fuck, Cas you _know_. Don’t you?”

Castiel wants to know. He even thinks he might, but he’s still too afraid to actually believe it.

“I’m just gonna…” Sam says after a moment, pushing back from the table and standing up.

“No, don’t,” Dean tells him and he stands up as well, pulling Castiel with him. “We’ll see you tomorrow, Sammy.”

Dean doesn’t bother looking at his brother as he drags Castiel down the hall and up the stairs.

“Does that… Does that really bother you?” Dean asks as he sits down on the edge of his bed while Castiel stands in front of him. “That picture?”

“The picture of you cheating on me? Yes, Dean. Believe or not, that _does_ bother me.”

“Seriously Cas,” Dean sighs. Castiel is glad Dean’s chosen to ignore his little outburst and talk about this rationally. “You’re gonna have to get used to things like that if we’re gonna last. People are going to say plenty of shit about me that’s not true and you can’t let it get to you. I wasn’t cheating on you. I wasn’t, and you know that.”

“Then why was she kissing you?”

“She’s a friend.”

“A friend who you sleep with.”

“A friend who I’ve _slept_ with. Past tense, Cas. She hangs out with us a lot and it’s been a while. We were just glad to see each other, that’s all. I promise. And you _know_ I wouldn’t do that to you. Right?”

“Perhaps,” Castiel concedes, and he knows that Dean’s telling the truth. Dean wouldn’t lie to him, especially not about this, and not this early into their tentative monogamy. “But you didn’t do much to correct people’s misconceptions, did you? You wanted them to believe that you and she are an item.”

Dean’s silent for a moment.

“I hurt you,” he finally says.

“You hurt me,” Castiel agrees.

“I’ll be more careful. Let me make it up to you.”

Castiel lets him.

Dean sends him flowers every day the following week and takes him to Cancun for the weekend. He’s attentive, considerate and he doesn’t shy away from him in public.

They have devastatingly hot sex in a ridiculously large bed and Castiel is sated and happy when he gets home on Sunday night.

***

The drive to Lawrence is a pain in the ass on a Wednesday night after work and the drive back home at five the next morning is even worse.

The look on Dean’s face when Castiel surprises him with a case of beer, a pizza and one of his favourite movies is worth it, though.

They don’t even have sex that night, just fall asleep curled around each other on the couch, tipsy and full, and it’s one of the best nights Castiel can remember having in a while.

***

Castiel wakes up naked and spooned around Dean on a Sunday morning. He’s hard and his cock is nestled along the crack of Dean’s ass and the dream he’d been having about Brad Pitt fades into a pleasant fuzz as a much _more_ pleasant reality rushes in. He pauses in his thrusting while he blinks fully awake, takes in a deep breath and squeezes his arm around Dean tighter.

Dean responds by letting out a nonsensical murmur and pushing back, working Castiel’s length more solidly between his cheeks. He’s asleep, Castiel knows that, so he takes advantage. Doesn’t go so far that he feels he’s violating Dean, just holds Dean close, rides the crevice of his ass and pretends.

His movements are slow, careful, but they’re already bringing him to the edge and he can feel Dean’s own erection bumping against his arm where it’s circling Dean’s middle. He presses a soft kiss to the nape of Dean’s neck and slowly lowers his hand, fingers gently curling around Dean’s hardness.

He pumps a few times and when Dean responds by rocking back and forth, sliding alternately against Castiel’s fist and his cock, Castiel picks up his pace. A few strong, sure strokes later Dean freezes, and Castiel knows he’s woken up – knows his fantasy has come to an end.

Castiel stops moving. He wants to keep going, wants to do more, but this is something they’ve never done, something he’s not even sure Dean wants. He doesn’t let go though, places an open-mouthed kiss to the knob of Dean’s spine and he almost cries when Dean lets out a soft breath and rolls away.

It’s okay, he tells himself. It really is. Castiel is more than happy with their sex life and if he never gets to be inside Dean that way, he really is fine with it.

Dean rolls even further, completely out of Castiel’s touch and he worries for a moment that he’s gone too far, that Dean will shut down. But then Dean reaches over to the nightstand, opens the drawer and pulls out a condom, rolls back and pushes it into Castiel’s hand.

“Do it,” Dean says quietly, without meeting his eyes.

Castiel must have heard him wrong. It’s the only explanation. Dean has never once given the impression that this is something he’s open to.

“Dean.”

“You want to, right?”

“ _Yes_.” It’s not really a strong enough word, but it’s all he’s got.

Dean gives him a nervous looking smile at that, rubs his hand along Castiel’s arm.

“So, how do you want me?”

“Dean, you really don’t have to…”

“Cas, just… Fuck. Remember how you wanting things and not telling me about them almost broke us up once already?”

Castiel halfway returns Dean’s smile and says, “I vaguely recall, yes.”

“If there’s something you want, you have to let me know. If I can give it to you I will, but don’t you dare just assume that I can’t. Okay?”

“Yes, Dean.”

“Good,” Dean nods and spread his legs a little. “So just… Fuck me, Cas. I want you to.”

Castiel nods dumbly and blinks down at Dean as he rolls half on top of him. His hand trails down Dean’s side, over his hip and slides in between his legs. Dean’s breath hitches and he opens his legs a little further, lets Castiel’s hand slide back so that his fingers are working over Dean’s balls and behind.

“Lube,” Castiel whispers as he bucks up against Dean’s thigh, his dick sliding against Dean’s skin, leaving slick trails of fluid. “We need…”

Dean chuckles softly and extends his arm, pulls a tube of lubricant from the same place the condom had come from.

“Don’t be stingy with that shit,” Dean mock-warns, and Castiel smiles down at him as he squeezes a generous amount out onto his fingers. 

“Seriously, Cas,” Dean says, hand cupping Castiel’s arm while Castiel’s slick fingers slide along Dean’s crack and circle his hole. “Go slow, okay? It’s been… a while.”

Castiel doesn’t bother asking again if Dean’s sure. He doesn’t know if he’d be able to stop right now if Dean told him ‘no’ so he takes Dean’s advice. Pushes one finger in slowly and watches while Dean closes his eyes, jerks his head back with his mouth open. It’s not pleasure, not pain either. It looks like Dean’s surprised, like he’s trying to figure out what exactly he’s supposed to be feeling.

The look intensifies, turns accepting and then discouraging as the finger works in further, twists around and is then joined by another. And another. Dean’s breathing heavily now, mumbling, his face pulled tight like he’s barely holding it together and Castiel almost does chicken out.

“Dean,” he says, crooking his fingers and watching Dean’s body tense and release as he hits his prostate. “We don’t have to do this.”

“Cas,” Dean warns, voice low and gruff, and the sheer _need_ Castiel hears makes him fall in love all over again. “If you don’t get in me right now, I’m gonna kick your ass so hard.”

And then Castiel can’t help himself. He picks up the condom he’d dropped on the bed, opens it quickly and rolls it down over his cock. Pins Dean down and settles firmly over top of him, angling the tip of his erection at Dean’s entrance and starts to push.

Dean’s face scrunches up but Castiel presses in steadily, slow and unrelenting until he’s all the way in. He watches as Dean’s eyes clench shut and his body tenses up, knows it’s only going to be harder on him the tenser he is but Dean doesn’t tell him to stop so Castiel doesn’t.

He pulls back and pushes in again, still slowly, still letting Dean get used to him. Does it over and over again and eventually Dean starts to relax, starts to thrust up against him. Dean wraps his arms around Castiel, settles them over his back and presses kisses to the side of his neck, his jaw, his lips.

Castiel doesn’t think anything has ever felt better in his entire life. Dean is hot and tight and perfect around him and he wishes that it could last forever. There’s no way it will though. It’s possible he might come right now if Dean keeps clenching down on him like that and Castiel can’t help but cry out.

“Dean! Oh my God, Dean.”

“Okay,” Dean says, breathless. “This is okay.”

“You thought it wouldn’t be?”

Dean doesn’t answer that, just bucks up harder, loosens his muscles and shoves his tongue down Castiel’s throat.

“Touch me,” he pants, long minutes later. Castiel’s been riding that edge since the first push inside and he’s ready to burst. “Cas, come on. Jerk me off.”

Castiel does, takes him in hand and works him quickly, slows his thrusts and angles them so that he’s hitting Dean’s sweet spot every time. He manages, through sheer force of will, to hold off and let Dean come first. He looks beautiful when he does, eyes closed and head thrown back, fingers digging so hard into Castiel’s shoulders that they leave bruises as he shouts out a series of profanities, and Castiel follows shortly thereafter.

It’s wonderful. If he never gets to have Dean again, he thinks he can live the rest of his life in quiet contentment just remembering this moment.

“I love you,” he whispers as he pulls free, kisses Dean’s lips and slips the condom off. Dean gets up then and grabs the tissues off his dresser, winces slightly as he shifts and turns. Castiel kisses him again when Dean passes him the box after taking a few to wipe himself clean and then Dean pulls him back down to the bed.

“Holy fuck that was amazing,” Dean says eventually and Castiel nearly sighs with relief. “We are so doing that again. Maybe just...” He shifts and his face pulls tight again. “Not right now.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I am. It’s never been… you know, that great before.”

“Then why did you let me do it?” Castiel scolds, eyes narrowed. He doesn’t want Dean doing him any favours, not like this.

“Wow,” Dean says, scoffing and shaking his head. “You really are dumber than you look.”

“What are you…” Castiel starts but Dean cuts him off with a kiss and grabs his hand, pulls him up as Dean stands.

“Let’s head downstairs. I’m friggin’ starving.”

Castiel watches Dean slip into a pair of worn flannel pants before he pulls a pair of his own sweats from the dresser. He thinks he should really clear out a drawer in his own dresser for some of Dean’s things, maybe make some space in the bathroom and the kitchen cupboard.

Castiel follows Dean down to the kitchen, sits at the table across from Sam and Nick while Dean heads over to the fridge and pulls out some peanut butter and jelly.

“Have a good morning, guys?” Sam asks. His knowing grin makes Castiel realise that perhaps they were a bit louder than he’d thought.

“Dude,” Dean says to Sam as he slides four pieces of bread into the toaster. “Why didn’t you ever tell me taking it up the ass could be so awesome?”

Castiel goes beet red and Nick spits out his mouthful of Shreddies. Sam just rolls his eyes.

***

Castiel cheats on Dean three months in, unable somehow to believe that what they have is real. He’s testing himself with his actions just as much as he’s testing Dean, not only pushing, but breaking through the bounds of their new commitment to see if anything will be left when Dean finds out.

He can’t help it; he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He’s drunk when he does it, not that that’s much of an excuse, and he regrets it immediately. Hell, he regrets it _during_ , but he doesn’t stop. 

Dean’s away, booked on a half dozen talk shows and Castiel hasn’t spoken with him in a few days.

He’s watching David Letterman ask Dean about the rumours, whether Tessa is actually his girlfriend and what the story is behind those fuzzy photos of him making out with a man.

Dean laughs it off, doesn’t exactly answer, but assures David that he’s not gay and tells him that he and Tessa go way back. Castiel doesn’t know why he expected anything different. Doesn’t know why somewhere in the back of his mind he half-expected Dean to say ‘yes, actually, that guy in the picture is my boyfriend and no, I’m not gay exactly, but I do like dick’.

It just sounds very much like something Dean would say, only he wouldn’t say it on national television.

Castiel keeps watching and learns for the first time that Dean met Tessa in the hospital after the car accident, that she’s a nurse and she held his hand while he was in his coma and they’ve been close ever since.

No wonder Dean likes her so much.

He shuts off the television and goes to a bar, drinks an entire bottle of tequila, and fucks the first man that says ‘yes’ in the washroom. It’s so completely out of character for him and when he catches their reflection in the mirror he barely recognises himself.

He calls Gabriel to come pick him up and Gabriel brings him home, puts a glass of water and two Advil into his hands and doesn’t say a word.

When Dean gets back to Kansas he shows up at Castiel’s apartment even before he’s been back to his own house. He’s smiling and happy and it breaks Castiel’s heart worse than Dean’s when he tells him what he did.

He starts the conversation out so, so wrong but he can’t help mentioning the Letterman interview, can’t help asking why Dean didn’t just tell the truth.

“Because it’s nobody’s fucking business who I’m fucking!” Dean shouts, and Castiel’s eyes go wide as he jerks and takes a step back. “I didn’t lie, I didn’t tell them I was with Tessa. She’s a friend. That’s all I ever said she was.”

“I just wish…” he starts, and then trails off because he’s not even sure what he wishes. Is it really that important that people know about them? Yes, it would be nice. But is it worth losing Dean over? It’s not, he realises.

“I never lied,” Dean points out again, calmer now. “I never said those pictures with you were fakes. I just didn’t say exactly what you wanted to hear. Cas, we’ve talked about this. I’m doing the best I can, but if that’s not good enough…”

“I slept with somebody else,” Castiel says suddenly, surprising them both. Dean blinks and opens his mouth but nothing comes out. “I didn’t even ask his name. I was drunk and angry and the rest room was unoccupied and I’m… I’m sorry, Dean. So very sorry.”

He _is_ sorry, more sorry than he’s ever been before but he doesn’t ask forgiveness. He knows Dean will give it eventually – Dean`s slept around enough that fucking a stranger in a bathroom probably isn’t that big a deal for him, and besides, he knows that Castiel loves him – but Castiel thinks he might not deserve it.

Dean purses his lips and his expression is carefully schooled. He turns and leaves without another word, closing the door quietly behind him.

Dean manages to get his picture taken in compromising positions with six different women in as many days. One of them is Tessa. Castiel stares at the computer screen for hours as some sick sort of punishment.

***

A week later, Dean’s waiting outside his door when he gets home from work. He looks just as wrung out as Castiel feels and Castiel hates himself. He did this. He didn’t have to, Dean has given him so much, tried so hard, and Castiel wonders why nothing seems to be enough for him. He wonders what will be.

“I’m sorry,” Dean says brokenly, choking back tears when they’re standing in Castiel’s living room.

Castiel can’t help but feel that he’s the one who should apologise. Again. It was _his_ infidelity, after all, that drove Dean into the arms of so many others.

He’s glad Dean’s sorry though, so when he opens his mouth what comes out is, “Did you have sex with all of them?”

“Not all of them,” Dean denies, with a quick shake of his head. 

“But some?”

“One. Not Tessa though, I swear,” he quickly amends. “I felt so bad for using the first one like that that I couldn’t do it again. The rest of them… it didn’t go very far.”

“You’ve used countless women before, Dean,” Castiel points out, because it’s true.

“But they were always using me for the same thing. I’ve never used someone for revenge before.”

“That’s what it was?”

“Jesus Christ, Cas!” Dean shouts and Castiel flinches back at the force of his voice. “Of course that’s what it was! And let’s not forget that you’re the one that stepped out on me here. I was... I was trying to hurt you. Show you that there’s always someone who wants me, even if it isn’t you. It was a low, shitty thing to do, and I’m sorry.”

“Maybe it’s for the best,” Castiel says, even as he feels his heart splinter into pieces. It’s _not_ for the best. He wants Dean more than he’s ever wanted anything and he wants them to be together but he’s just so scared.

“No,” Dean says, shaking his head. He reaches out and takes Castiel’s hand, pulls him closer. Castiel goes willingly and he watches with rapt fascination as Dean closes his eyes and sucks in a shaky breath.

“You can try to sabotage this all you want, because you think I’m not in it like you are, but you’re wrong. You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Don’t you get it, man? You’re stuck with me. So just…” he breaks off for a beat, laughing a little crazily. “Get used to it.”

“After what I did…” Castiel says. “You still…”

“Cas, fuck,” Dean says, and steps even closer, brushes his nose along Castiel’s temple. “I fucking love you. _I love you_. And you love me. Do you even… Does that mean anything to you? Because to me it means I’m not letting you go. It means we fight for us, even when it’s hard. Even when you’re being an idiot and an asshole. Which you tend to do a lot of, by the way.”

“You…” Castiel starts quietly, swallowing a sudden lump in his throat. He feels tears prick at his eyes but he swallows those down, too. “You love me?”

“You didn’t know that?”

“You never said.”

“I love you,” Dean says again, the words coming out in a garbled mess as he speaks them straight into Castiel’s mouth between a series of kisses. “I love you, Cas. I might be a bit of a jerk, and I might suck at this relationship thing, but you’re mine and I’m not letting you go and I love you.”

“Show me,” Castiel demands, tilting his head back and allowing Dean’s lips to close down over his throat.

“As long as it means I get to stop friggin’ talking about it,” Dean grumbles, then takes him by the hand and leads him into the bedroom.

Two hours later Castiel has no doubts in his mind.

***

The next day, he does get around to clearing out that drawer for Dean.

END


End file.
